


All Or Nothing At All

by im95notdead



Series: The 1940s [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is a treasure, Deaf Clint, Everyone wants a Dmitri by their side, F/F, Gun Violence, Irish Mafia, Knife Violence, M/M, Mafia AU, New York City, Period Typical Homophobia, Russian Mafia, Sexual Content, Sexual Language, mentions of torture/abuse, russian bucky, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 131,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im95notdead/pseuds/im95notdead
Summary: In 1949, James “Winter” Romanov is the head of the Russian mob and most feared man on the East Coast. Following a hard-hitting rejection, he attempts to heal while carrying on business as usual.“Half a love, never appealed to me,If your heart, never could yield to me,Then I’d rather have nothing at all.”— All or Nothing at All, Sinatra
Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes / Clint Barton, Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers / Tony Stark
Series: The 1940s [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560136
Comments: 222
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a companion piece to “The Way You Look”. It is possible to read them separately but I would definitely recommend reading The Way You Look first for context. 
> 
> The title is inspired by the song of the same name by Frank Sinatra.
> 
> James “Winter” Romanov is Bucky Barnes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love hurts. Especially when you’re the only one in it.

“You threw up on _me_ , Rogers,” James argued, tossing his wadded up serviette at Steve. Steve laughed. 

“Yeah, but you made me ride the cyclone and you knew I didn’t want to. Plus I’d just eaten about four hotdogs. That was bad judgment on your part.” 

“You could’ve at least aimed your big head away from my lap.” 

Benni was chuckling, enjoying this, and then he asked, “Have you guys been friends forever?” James smiled. They’d been friends for so long he barely had any memories that weren’t interwoven with Steve’s presence and influence. Not to mention that they had been more than friends for a period as well. 

“A long time for sure,” Steve answered the boy. 

“I was eight when I met this annoying man,” James said, a smile on his face that only ever showed up when he spoke about Steve. It was small and private and warm. 

“Pet,” Sarah began, “why don’t you bring down the photo album? Show the boys?” 

Steve stood and darted off to his room to find it. 

James could go now. This was a perfect opportunity and, surprisingly, he realized he didn’t get many like this any more. Steve would be in his room, away from everyone else. James could just go up and go in with none the wiser. Sarah said he should tell him. 

James pushed his chair back to follow Steve. “Let me make sure he doesn’t leave out the ones where he looks terrible,” he lied easily. 

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart racing and palms sweating. James couldn’t remember ever having been this nervous in his entire life but he knew a lot was at stake here. He pushed Steve’s door open to see him stood at the shelves where he kept his pictures and books, searching for the photo album in question. Steve turned briefly. 

“Hey,” Steve said, going back to looking. James opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out and he found himself admiring Steve from behind. The broad expanse of his shoulders, his slim waist, and those trousers that hugged him just right. Everything about Steve attracted him but he knew it wasn’t just physical. “Need something?” 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low, barely there. Steve turned, the confusion written all over his beautiful face. Those heavy-set eyebrows that scrunched up adorably over his clear blue eyes, the hard line of his jaw, and gentle slope of his nose that lead to those full lips. 

James sighed, running his fingers through his hair, and with a few long strides he quickly closed the space between them. 

Steve blinked. “James?” 

He grabbed Steve by his waistcoat and moved him over away from the shelves, shoving him against the wall, his hands still firmly gripping him. Steve’s confusion intensified, mistaking James’ actions for aggression but not retaliating, instead waiting to understand. This was a liberty he did not extend to more than a handful of people. 

“What’s—”

James gave him a small, sad smile before kissing him roughly. James’ heart skipped a beat and then sped up, everything about this moment feeling so urgent. 

When Steve’s tenseness dissipated, James could fully enjoy it. Steve tasted like Sarah’s cooking but also like Irish whiskey and something else that was entirely and uniquely Steve. 

Desperate for more, to be as close as possible, James stuck a leg between Steve’s and spread them, sliding into the space that created so they were chest to chest and hip to hip. James let his hands rove over Steve’s body how he used to, how he daydreamed about doing constantly. 

He reached up to cradle Steve’s face, his thumb on Steve’s cheek and fingers curling around his head and into the short hair on his neck. His other hand slid down Steve’s back and came to rest just shy of the top of his trousers. He used that hand to pull Steve even closer, steady him against himself. 

James never wanted that moment to end and for a few seconds, he let himself pretend that it wouldn’t as Steve’s hands began to move over James’ body seemingly just as eager. 

When Steve tilted his head back and opened his mouth for James, all of the alarms going off in James’ head screaming that this was a bad idea fell silent. And then there was only him and Steve, James’ tongue exploring his mouth again for the first time in years and Steve responding in kind, his hands still roving over James. 

When Steve began pulling away, James used his last brain cell, his only remaining fragment of dignity, to not whine. He did however try to hold on to the kiss, chasing Steve’s lips as they moved away from his but Steve moved completely out of his reach and away from him. 

James licked his lips and considered screaming but instead he stayed where he was, standing upright and running a hand over his hair to make it neat and tidy again. He prepared himself for whatever was coming because he knew it wouldn’t be good. This was selfish and unrealistic and it was taking all of his composure, his years of learning to harden himself, not to show Steve how much the expression on his face was killing James. 

“James… _what_ ,” Steve asked, breathless. His mouth was bright pink and James forced himself to look anywhere else, lest he be tempted to try that again. 

Steve sat on his bed and James sighed and joined him. He figured he’d continue taking small liberties and sat very closely to Steve to which he didn’t protest, so that was a good sign, right? Right? 

James dragged a hand down his face and laughed. The sad sound ripped out of his chest and hurt as it escaped and James’ eyes stung but he’d be damned if he would cry. “I love you, Steve. I always have.” 

" _What_?” He asked again and this time the emotions sounded more clear: shock, disbelief, perhaps even anguish. “S-Since when? How long?” 

“Always, dumbass. Always means always.” He lowered his head, unable to look at Steve’s face any longer. He knew enough about that face and those eyes to know exactly what he saw there. “Since we were teenagers. I just… you didn’t—”

“I did,” Steve said before he could finish. “I did. I loved you something awful. And then you broke it off. You broke it off and I put on a brave face while you dated all those other birds and I made myself get over you. Why-why.” He paused, James holding onto to every syllable that left Steve’s mouth as if his life depended on it. “Why did you do it?” 

His mouth opened but his brain wasn’t ready yet. His heart would never be ready so he steeled himself and shoved his emotions as far back as he could. “I didn’t know. And I didn’t want you with me because you felt I was your only choice.” 

“You _were_ my only choice. I chose you. I wanted you.” 

James felt himself smile but he wasn’t sure why. There was nothing here worth smiling about. _Nothing_. “All past tense.” 

He stared down at the carpet, blinking slowly, working hard to keep his emotions in check. James had his chance and he blew it. Anything else he forced on Steve—his feelings, his reactions, himself—fell under the category of terrible friend. 

That aside, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when Steve reached over and gently lifted his fingers, intertwining their hands and James just let him, staring down at their hands. At Steve’s hands; his large, alabaster hands that looked like Michelangelo himself had sculpted them. 

“I still love you but not like that.” Steve might as well have shot him. 

James hummed, swallowing past the lump in his throat and searing pain in his chest. From behind slightly gritted teeth, he asked, “Tony?” 

Steve nodded. “James, I’m in love with him.” _Just shoot me and get it over with, Steve_. 

“He may never love you back that way.” He wasn’t trying to convince Steve to leave Tony and take him back, he just wanted to make sure Steve was aware of the risks. If he couldn’t have Steve, he wanted Steve to have _someone_. He didn’t want him to be alone forever. He didn’t think Steve could handle longing after someone he couldn’t have the way James could. It would either break Steve or drive him mad. 

“I know. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He squeezed James’ hand. “What about you?” 

James shrugged as casually as he could, feeling like he should leave soon or his composure would begin to deteriorate. “I’ll get over it. I have to. I’d rather have you in my life than not.” And it was true. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” James said, reaching up to hold his face. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You can’t help who you love, Steve. Do I wish it were me? Yes, but I had a feeling you loved him. I just figured better I get it out than keep it in forever. I can move on. Slowly,” he said, echoing Sarah’s words. He wouldn’t drag her into this. Nothing that happened was her fault. In fact, it did feel good—on a level he couldn’t quite process yet—to finally say it even if his heart ached knowing once and for all that the love was unrequited. 

He sighed deeply and leaned in to kiss Steve one last time, pausing before he reached his lips but Steve closed the distance. He pulled back, a goodbye kiss was all it was, and patted his leg. “I’m going to go.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I need some time to myself.” 

“Not too much, please.” James nodded but he had no intention of honoring that request. He would see Steve again but he needed time and distance. For everyone’s sake. Steve’s. James’. Tony’s. 

“Not to worry. I’ll be back here with my family soon. I just need to… process. Distance myself some.” Steve nodded. 

“Okay,” Steve said quietly. James hated hearing that dismal note to Steve’s voice. “As much time as you need.” James gave him another misplaced smile and left. 

His heart was pounding loudly again, beating in his ears but for a different reason now. No longer the excitement and urgency, now the shame and misery making his pulse race. It was truly beginning to sink in and it _hurt_ and he needed to get away. 

He took in a deep breath at the bottom of the stairs and mustered up enough willpower to successfully maintain his usual collected appearance as he retrieved his things from the living room, waved a quick goodbye to the three still in the kitchen and headed for the basement without another word. 

He heard footsteps coming after him, too light to be Steve’s heavy footfalls. 

“James, love—“ 

“It’s okay,” he told her, turning and taking Sarah’s hands. “I told him. It’s like I expected but at least now he knows. Thank you.” He kissed both her cheeks. “I’ll see you soon. I have to go now.”

She pulled him into a tight hug. “I love you, love.” 

“I love you too,” he said and left.

Downstairs in the basement was Dmitri, sitting on the couch, reading a book. He looked up when James came in and immediately gathered his own things and headed for the door, holding it open for James as he rushed through. 

Outside Dmitri did the same once again, holding open the car door and then sliding into the front and starting the engine. He waited, looking in the mirror to see James who had his head down, shadows cast across his face making it impossible to read his expression. 

“ _Where would you like to go_?” Dmitri asked carefully. 

Without ever looking up, James said, “ _Home._ ”

+

  
  
  


It was five days before any contact was made on Steve’s behalf to reach James and James had to admit, it was longer than he thought he would give him. Not because Steve was in love with him but because Steve was his best friend and a bleeding heart of a man if you knew the signs and how to read them. 

James had spent the last few days buried in his work, doing inspections and carrying out punishments he would normally delegate to Dmitri. He needed the distraction and an outlet for his frustration. A few unfortunate souls had timed their disobedience very, very poorly and were now on the receiving end of James’ fist and knife. 

James was coming back to his office, blood spattered across his grey shirt and a few specks on his neck. He was cleaning his knife off on what looked like someone else’s tie, his expression and eyes hard and unreadable beyond the obvious anger. 

Dmitri hurried to fall into step beside him, waiting for James to acknowledge him before he spoke. He had worked for James almost ten years now and while he knew he was James’ most trusted confidant after Steve, there was still an obvious boss-employee relationship that Dmitri did his best not to cross too often. 

“ _What is it?”_ James snapped and Dmitri began to explain that Dugan had called looking for them and Dmitri let Vitaly answer the phone. 

“ _I told him to lie and say we’re in Russia,_ ” he told James, suddenly wondering if this was the right move. He hadn’t consulted his boss, just came up with something on the spot and ran with it. Maybe James didn’t want them to know where he was at all—even if it was a lie—or maybe he didn’t want to lie to Steve. 

Dmitri swallowed dryly, awaiting James’ reaction. 

“ _Good_ ,” James told him, opening the door to his office and glancing back when Dmitri hesitated at the door, motioning for him to come in. Dmitri closed the door behind him and James began unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it off, checking his undershirt for blood as well, and handed it to Dmitri who immediately folded it and put it into a bag for dry cleaning. 

James went to the wardrobe in his office and pulled out another freshly pressed shirt and began putting it on, the bloody knife and tie resting on top of a handkerchief on his desk. 

“ _Dispose of that,”_ James told him, indicating to the tie with his chin. “ _And clean the knife._ ” 

“ _Yes, Winter. Anything else?_ ” 

James thought about it for a long few seconds as he slipped new cuff links into his shirt sleeves and closed them. “ _No. Thank you, Dmitri._ ” 

“ _Of course_. _I’ll leave you alone._ ” 

James nodded, sitting down at his desk and waiting until Dmitri left out to lean back and close his eyes, sighing heavily. 

After five days not much had changed in regards to his pain levels. He still saw Steve when he dreamt, thought of Steve when he saw anyone blond. He kept replaying the kisses and touches in Steve’s room and even daring to go further back in time to when Steve was his. When Steve was small and looked so fragile despite being anything but. 

He pulled a key out of his waistcoat pocket and unlocked one of the drawers on his desk, pulling out a photo album and he flipped through it. The pages were weathered and soft at the edges from frequent use, the pictures varied in their quality. 

He started from the front where he had pictures of himself and his family, his little sister Anna who he had adored. He lost them in a car ‘accident’ when they had taken Anna back to see Russia for the first time. It was no accident.

James’ family, while having no blood relation to the royal Romanovs, were still rich and powerful in Russia. His father was a baron by royal appointment meaning his family was wealthy, prominent, as well as generally disliked, and had brought their vast wealth with them when they came to America. 

After the February and October Revolutions of 1917, they had waited a few more months for James to be born so he could be a true Russian, in their eyes, and then fled to New York when conditions continued to deteriorate, especially for the previously rich. His parents had assumed it was safe to travel back when they did to introduce Anna to her grandparents in the countryside but on the journey through Leningrad their car had been ambushed. James was twenty-two and still in New York at the time. 

James flipped to the next few pages, deciding not to linger any longer on the ones of his family. At least not his blood relatives. 

Next came him and Steve, young, James was maybe thirteen making Steve ten or so. Both of them were bright eyed with smiles stretching from ear to ear as they stood in front of some deli with their arms slung across each others’ shoulders. 

There was a knock at the door. 

James flipped to the next photo. Fast forward a few years and this time the picture was in private. Sarah had taken it in Steve’s room. They were both sat on the end of Steve’s bed, James’ hand rested on top of Steve’s. James remembered Joseph—Steve’s father—was away for a few days on business and James and Steve could be themselves in Sarah’s home. James let out a soft chuckle at how oblivious Steve had been to his own mother knowing all along, even though James had been just as oblivious. 

There was another knock at the door. 

James flipped to one of the last photos. They were grown, looking not much different than they did now. Steve was in his uniform, his order forms in hand and hat tipped on his head, a devilishly handsome grin on his face. James hadn’t tried to sign up and by that time, he was already known as _Winter_ , so no one really came knocking demanding that he fight. 

There was another knock at the— 

_“What!”_ James roared, slamming the photo album shut and quickly slipping it back into the draw, locking it again. James exhaled loudly, running a hand over his hair and cracking his neck, correcting his posture. “ _Come in_.” 

The door opened and Dmitri poked his head in, dropping his eyes the moment he met James’ cold, piercing gaze. James slowly tapped his fingers on his desk as Dmitri approached, the heavy wooden door closing behind him. 

Dmitri came over quietly, keeping his eyes down and focused on James’ desk, his hands behind his back and right before he sat, he reached out and set down two crystal glasses and a beautiful bottle of vodka. He also set James’ freshly cleaned and sharpened knife down on his desk. 

“ _Moskovskaya Osobaya?_ ” James asked, reaching out for the bottle to check the easily recognizable green label. “ _Where did you get this?_ ” Production of it was halted in 1914 during the _sukhoy zakon_ —the Russian prohibition of World War One—and in 1925, when it was lifted, the stuff sold out so fast it was _still_ hard to find it. Especially stateside. 

“ _My cousin went home and came back with a few bottles_ ,” Dmitri explained. 

“ _Please pass on my gratitude to her,”_ he told him, opening the bottle and pouring Dmitri’s first. He knew of Dmitri’s cousin but had never met her. He spoke highly of her to James. 

Dmitri reached for the glass and hesitated, wondering if James wanted him to sip it first but then James poured himself some and lifted his glass to tap to Dmitri’s. “ _Za druzhbu_.” 

“ _Za druzhbu_ ,” Dmitri repeated, downing the shot as James did the same and then poured them another, this time just holding it in his hand. 

James was quiet for a moment, watching Dmitri who wasn’t afraid of his intense gaze and didn’t squirm when he found himself under it. He had only been extra careful as of late because he knew what James was dealing with and he didn’t want to add any misery to his boss’ life. He had a great level of respect—that toed the line of admiration and endearment—for him. 

“ _And thank_ you _, Dmitri.”_

Dmitri nodded his head, a small, tight movement, and James gave him a smile in return. Well, the corners of James’ mouth flicked upward so quickly that had Dmitri chosen to blink in that moment he would’ve missed it completely but he didn’t, and that minuscule gesture meant so much to him. 

He checked his pocket watch and then finished his vodka, letting James know that of course the rest of the bottle was his to keep as a gift, and turned to leave. James leaned back in his chair again, the glass of vodka still in his hand and was about to return to his trip down masochism lane, also known as flipping through his photo album, when Dmitri hesitated at the door, turning to him. 

James raised a single, questioning eyebrow, the rest of his expression otherwise unchanged. 

“ _Winter?”_ James nodded for him to go on. “ _Let me help_.” 

James’ head tilted to the side in a display of confusion he would not normally allow himself but this was Dmitri, it was okay. 

Dmitri moved closer to the desk again, a little nervous. He knew James like the back of his hand when it came to how he liked his food, his suits, how he wanted a room to be before he entered. He knew all his preferences to a T, even his sexual ones, but, in all his years, he had still not learned to guess what James was thinking the way Dugan could with Steve. It seemed no one but Steve knew what James was thinking. 

“ _Help you forget.”_

Both of James’ eyebrows shot up at that and he put his glass down to use the same hand to gesture questioningly between himself and Dmitri, a deep frown on his face. 

Dmitri shook his head. “ _Not with me.”_ There was a lot he was willing to do for James but that was not one of those things. “ _But I do have someone in mind.”_

“ _Someone you trust?”_

“ _Implicitly.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BlanketofDeath with whom I co-wrote The Way You Look for beta-omg every chapter like the champ that she is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has gone "off the grid." Dmitri is just trying to help, it's not his fault his friends are weird.

Sarah called a few times that week and each time her call was redirected to Vitaly who fed her the same lie each time: “He’s in Russia. No, I don’t know when he will be back. Yes, Dmitri is with him. No, I do not have a way to contact him there. I am sorry, Mrs. Rogers.” 

Sarah was the only person to whom James felt bad about lying. She had done nothing wrong but he knew that while she might not immediately report back to Steve—or at all—still she would try to convince him to come back, to come for dinner. To act like everything was fine and let the feelings play out naturally but James simply did not want that. He knew himself and he knew the only way he was ever going to fall out of love with Steve Rogers would be to put as much distance between them as possible for as long as possible. He wasn’t sure how long that meant exactly but he would keep it up for as long as it proved necessary. 

Eventually, he had a bouquet of flowers sent to Sarah along with a card that read _‘I’m sorry. Love, James’_ and after that the phone calls stopped.

It had been about two weeks since that day at Steve’s home and James was managing. Some days were harder than others but he was doing better than could be expected of most people. It went without saying that being in love was difficult even when the person returned your feelings. Being in love when the person didn’t know you had feelings for them was even harder. But being in love with someone who _used_ to be yours _and_ didn’t know you had been in love with them for the last decade or so with the frankly devastating added bonus of watching them fall in love with someone else? Well, if James’ eyes stung every now and then or his throat went dry or chest ached like he had been stabbed, it was perfectly understandable. 

Now he sat at his breakfast table alone as he did most mornings. It had been a hard thing to do after his family died. The silence was deafening and the absence of family, of life, made him feel cold. He had long come to terms with it but this morning felt like he was starting all over, sitting alone for the first time ever, and he wasn’t even sure why. 

He sipped his coffee and picked up the paper to read and distract his mind. Surely there must be something he could delve into. 

He was four paragraphs into an article detailing the announcement and implementation of President Truman’s _Point Four Program,_ when he heard a noise, using one hand to swiftly rest his butter knife on his thigh and continue reading his paper. 

There were not many people who lacked the self-preservation instincts that told them to steer clear of James during his private time and there were even fewer in such a self-preservation deficit as to make an attempt on James’ life. The smallest number of people were those _allowed_ to interrupt James’ during his private time, which was why the knife was a precaution but not one James actually thought he might need. 

The door to his kitchen opened and he lowered the paper just enough to look over it, raising it again and putting his butter knife back on the table when Dmitri greeted him. Dmitri, Steve and Sarah were the only people with unrestricted and unregulated access to James’ home. 

_“Good morning, Winter,_ ” Dmitri said, standing with his hands clasped together behind his back. In lieu of a greeting, James gestured for him to sit down and then lowered his paper, folding it and noting his place. 

“ _What brings you here so early?_ ” James asked, picking up his toast and taking a bite. He put the second piece of toast on a napkin and pushed it towards Dmitri who thanked him and took a bite. 

“ _You have a meeting with Fisk at noon.”_

James glanced up at the clock. It was nearly ten-thirty. 

He finished his coffee, wiped his mouth with his serviette and stood, leaving the rest of his toast untouched. “ _Ugh,”_ he groaned. 

He went upstairs to shower and get dressed. Meanwhile, Dmitri cleaned up in the kitchen and finished James’ other piece of toast. He stood at the entrance waiting for him to come downstairs again and locked the door behind him as they walked through. 

On the way to Bensonhurst, James stared out the window, not seeing anything, not really thinking about anything, and it was very peaceful. It was Dmitri calling his name that brought him out of his mental void. 

“ _Yes?_ ” 

“ _About my offer,”_ Dmitri began, rolling to a stop at a red light, only looking at James via the rearview mirror. “ _Is it—would you still like to hear it?_ ” 

“ _Yes._ ” 

Dmitri drove on as the light turned green, using the need to focus momentarily as a means to collect his thoughts. “ _My cousin, here in Manhattan—“_

“ _The same cousin who brought back the vodka or another?”_ James asked. 

_“Yes, the same cousin. I know you like both,”_ he continued and James raised an eyebrow again. Dmitri faltered, stammering slightly, because he never knew what to expect after one of those dark eyebrows went up. “ _She only likes other women, so no strings attached.”_

James turned his attention to outside again and away from Dmitri’s gaze. He wasn’t sure how to feel about what Dmitri was offering. He figured it might be something like this when Dmitri had first brought it up but he had also come to other conclusions and wanted to find out from the man himself rather than make hasty assumptions. 

Could a no strings attached fling be what he needed? He highly doubted it because as he had realized time and time again, it was not just about the physical with Steve. He was _in love_ with him. He would have gladly given up sex if it meant he could spend the remainder of his days by Steve’s side. 

However, maybe this could be the first step to getting over Steve. Introducing someone else into his life. And in any case, it couldn’t _hurt_ , could it? James knew Dmitri had his best intentions at heart—he had given James irrefutable evidence to support that many times. 

_“Go on,”_ James finally said. 

Dmitri let out a quiet sigh of relief and took a left turn. “ _I’d like to take you to meet her. There’s a safe place you can meet. I’d rather keep anywhere you might frequent under wraps,”_ he explained. 

_“One last question: does she know you are offering her like this?”_ Especially if she really was only into women then why would she ever agree to such a thing with James? 

_“Yes, I spoke with her this morning.”_

James studied him for a minute and then said, “ _Alright. Set it up.”_ Dmitri nodded. He stopped the car in front of the familiar dark stone building and before Dmitri could get out and open James’ door, James added: “ _Dmitri… thank you._ ”

“ _My pleasure, Winter.”_

+

Still definitely not in Russia, James sat at a bar in the lower east side beside Dmitri. It was loud and busy, no one taking the time to even bother looking James’ way except of course for the few people who looked like they would be interested in him taking them home for the night. Otherwise, James remained unnoticed as he had hoped. 

He was dressed down, slightly, to keep up the pretense of not being anybody special and in all honesty, while most people knew his name and his reputation, very few knew what he actually looked like. 

Unlike Steve, James did not venture out into the public eye as often. At least he did not do so as ‘Winter.’ He did not join his men on their rounds or deeds of any kind. He’d only recently begun taking a few matters into his own hands but that was all done in the building or in of his various offices and he was only doing it to blow off steam.

He lifted his vodka shot to his lips and tilted his head back, downing it and using that as a way to surreptitiously scan the bar for anyone unsavory or for Dmitri’s cousin, though he had no idea what she looked like. 

The door swung open with a creak that managed to cut through the raucous speaking of the crowd inside the bar and both James and Dmitri turned to look. James’ eyebrows shot up and Dmitri gave the woman a fond smile, sliding off his barstool to open his arms to her, at which point James’ eyebrows attempted to fuse with his hairline. 

_“Hello, my dear_ ,” Dmitri said to her, pulling her in for a hug and offering to take her coat. It was freezing outside but when she removed the thick, heavy coat, James had to take a moment to remember who he was and where he was so he could control his facial expressions. 

She was on the petit side, perhaps a foot smaller than James. Her hair was a rich and deep red color and framed her face with large curls that fell just below her shoulder blades. Her bright green eyes were focused on James and her perfectly red-painted, full lips pulled up into sultry sort of smile. She was wearing a pair of high-waisted, cream trousers and a simple green blouse that made her eyes pop even more than they already did. 

James found himself almost involuntarily looking her up and down as she came closer and extended a dainty hand out towards him, which he took and lifted to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft, warm skin. 

“ _It’s a pleasure,”_ he said. 

“ _Pleasure’s mine, I assure you.”_ She held his hand a moment longer. “ _You’re not normally my type,”_ she said and he understood the hidden meaning, “ _but I could learn to make an exception if they all looked like you._ ” James laughed, so unused to anyone being that blunt with him but Steve and Sarah. It was refreshing. 

“ _James,_ ” he introduced himself. 

“ _Natalia._ ” 

They talked for a minute about where they came from—James from Leningrad and Natalia from Stalingrad. Natalia was surprisingly very easy to talk to. She had a very calm air about her that paired nicely with her seemingly inborn sophistication. 

Midway through Dmitri’s story about their childhood, the doors to the bar burst open, the sound of the door hitting the wall loud and made everyone’s conversation grind to a halt long enough for the man responsible to utter a slightly embarrassed “Sorry, everyone.” 

They turned back to their own conversations immediately after and the man rubbed his arms and shook his head to get the snow off. James let out a soft groan because it was not snowing when they left and the last thing he wanted was to be cold and damp. 

The man went up to the bar and signaled something to the bartender who went to work making whatever his request was. He came right over to where James was, removing his hat to show them a mess of dirty-blond hair that was now sticking up in a million different directions and he seemed to sense this, reaching up to fix it as he approached. 

James had his hand resting on the handle of his knife that always sat on his hip, concealed by his jacket. It was an occupational hazard sure but also one that helped more often than not. 

“Hey, Meech,” the man said, looking at Dmitri and James’ eyebrows knitted together in blatant confusion. _Who the hell was Meech?_

James turned to Dmitri for answers but the mystery man was already talking, stopping only to turn and thank the bartender who handed him his drink. “Would you guys believe it’s hard to find a park out there? I’m tellin’ ya, one day New York is gonna be overrun with these stupid cars.” 

Natalia cleared her throat and he stopped talking, turning to look at James. “Oh, sorry, where are my manners? Clint Barton.” He stuck his hand out for James who looked at it and then back up at the man to whom it was attached, his eyebrow still raised and even Dmitri knew that look meant ‘who the hell are you’? Just because Clint was stupidly handsome with his dark blue eyes and mischievous smile did not mean he could just waltz up to James like they were old pals. 

“ _Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”_ Natalia suggested when James looked to her for answers. If there was one thing that he did not like it was being the last one to know something. 

With a hefty glare sent Dmitri’s way, James allowed them to lead him to a private room in the bar. Natalia was close with the owner apparently. The door shut and immediately James began demanding answers. 

“Clint is my husband,” Natalia explained. 

“You brought your _husband_ along to, what, watch?” He asked, irritated and confused. He looked at Dmitri who raised his hands in defense but that was neither an answer or excuse and James took a half-step towards him when Natalia began speaking again. 

“If you’d let me finish, you would understand,” she told him, not impressed nor frightened by his temper. James could respect that. It took a certain kind of person to not at least be shaken by James when he was angry. 

It wasn’t insubordination or an attempt to challenge him, she just did not see the need to treat him like he walked on water when he very much did not. He missed that, if he was being honest. His sister Anna was like that. Sarah was like that. _Steve_ was like that. 

“Clint is my husband but I’m not much his type either, you follow? But being married makes life easier. We’re just really good friends is all.” James assumed Natalia had switched to English for Clint’s benefit so he also kept the conversation in English. 

James looked at Clint who waved. “But why are you _here?_ ”

“I’m a young married woman. It’s not proper for me to go out to bars with men I don’t know,” she told him with an eye roll at the preposterous notion. “So I brought my husband. Besides, if you don’t want _me,_ _he’s_ more than happy to roll around in those sheets with you. I couldn’t care less either way.” 

James shot Dmitri a look that said ‘you told them?’ and Dmitri responded, “ _Implicitly,_ ” echoing his earlier reassurance to James. 

James sighed, debating this, and then turned to look at Clint who raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’d definitely be _more_ than happy,” he agreed, catching James off guard with his straightforwardness. James’ surprise quickly faded into intrigue. 

He stuck his hand out for Clint to take and Clint grabbed it firmly, giving it two shakes. 

“James,” he introduced himself finally. 

“Nice to meet you, James. How do you know Meech?” 

James smiled. “I’m his boss.” 

He watched Clint’s eyes grow a half size bigger as understanding quickly sunk in. James glanced over at Dmitri who was smirking at Clint and then at Natalia who looked equally amused. Apparently, Natalia knew who she was being brought to meet but Clint did not. 

Dmitri told Natalia: “ _If he’s interested, he will make the first move.”_ That was what he had told her three days ago when she had asked him what to expect. James would make the first move. He had more than shown that he was attracted to her—James, like Steve, did go both ways—but the entire night, James did not so much as look at Natalia in a way suggestive of anything sexual and even less so did he touch her inappropriately, his hand only ever found her shoulder when something she said had particularly amused him. Even then, it was the briefest, lightest of touches. Almost negligible at that point. 

Natalia was confused, having figured the whole reason for them meeting up was to get James’ mind off of whatever was bothering him. Dmitri hadn’t gone into detail, respecting James’ privacy. All she knew was that sex might be a good way to help him clear his mind, so when James never made the first move, or _any_ move, all three of them were rightly confused. 

Dmitri wondered if James had misunderstood, though he highly doubted it. James’ questions in the car the other day would make no sense had he misunderstood and James was too intelligent to have misunderstood such a simple idea in the first place. 

Clint, once the shock of who he had just brazenly walked up to wore off, began to piece together a different theory altogether despite having the least amount of information. 

He noticed the way James didn’t let himself smile fully, the way even the smiles he did allow never touched his eyes. He noticed how when James thought no one was looking, he zoned out into a middle distance until his attention was brought back into the conversation and he instantly slipped his unreadable mask back on but Clint saw it. He saw his face in those moments when the mask fell. He saw how tired he was. How sad. 

Clint’s theory was that James was lonely. 

When the night came to an end and Dmitri was driving James back home, the car was silent. James was staring out again, watching the snow fall. He wondered absently if they were going to have a repeat of the 1947 snowstorm. He hoped not. 

Once again he was pulled from his thoughts by Dmitri talking. 

“ _You, uh… you weren’t interested?”_

The night had been better than James expected. He had debated the offer of meaningless sex on the drive there and come to the conclusion that, no, he didn’t want that after all. He knew what it was like to be with someone he truly cared for and right now, while he was still mourning the loss of that ever being a reality again, the last thing he wanted was to go back to emotionless, passionless sex with a complete stranger. 

_“She was very beautiful,”_ he assured him, “ _and wonderful to talk to. Very intelligent.”_

“ _But not what you were looking for? What about Clint?”_

James thought about his response this time. A distaste for meaningless sex aside, he had not attempted to initiate anything with Natalia also because she _only_ liked women. Sure, she had offered and agreed to it but James could only imagine how he would feel about being with a woman if he were only into men. He did not feel right asking that of her. 

Clint, on the other hand, was quite adorable and James did not use that word often. Clint was mostly smiles, dirty comments and the kind of disposition that made people gravitate towards him. He was a delight to be around and James was pleased to have made his acquaintance but again, he simply was not looking for a short-term anything at the moment. He needed to nurse his broken heart first. However, he would admit that the company had been nice. 

_“He was charming as well. Why did you not tell me it would be more than one person?”_

Dmitri swallowed. “ _I, um. I was not sure you would still say yes.”_

James disassembled this reply in his mind, looking for meaning. “ _Why would I not?”_

“ _Because it would mean I told your secret, which I did. My deepest apologies, Winter, I was only trying to h—”_

 _“Dmitri.”_ He stopped talking. _“Thank you for introducing them to me._ Both _of them.”_

Dmitri sighed in relief. _“You’re most welcome.”_

+

While having appreciated the company and the break from the norm, James did not think of it as more than a one time thing. Dmitri had attempted to find James a distraction but it just wasn’t the kind of distraction he wanted so he sought out others. 

The man bowed quickly before James who sat at his desk, sunlight glinting off the knife in his hand. He played with it idly as the man spoke, making the man’s eyes dart towards it worryingly every few seconds. 

Dmitri stood behind the visitor, arms crossed over his chest tightly and jaw set. This was not good news but James delighted in it because it meant a good distraction was coming his way. 

The man bowed again and Dmitri showed him out. He was a member of the Triad, run by a fierce woman by the name of Linda Gao, more commonly known as Madame Gao. 

She and James were by no means friends but they both had a respect for the business they were in and he certainly trusted her more than any of the other bosses in the city, save for Steve of course. 

Dmitri came back in a moment later, shutting the door. 

“ _How would you like to proceed?”_

James ran his finger along the spine of his blade, his eyes flickering up to meet Dmitri’s. “ _When you find him, bring him to me. Along with anyone who knew what he was doing.”_

Dmitri nodded and left, immediately barking out orders to his men down the hall before the door to James’ office had even closed. 

They had a traitor. Or a rat, as James preferred to label them. One of their men had gone to Gao to exchange secrets about Russian activities in exchange for a reduced price for heroin and once he was gone, she had immediately sent one of her errand boys to James to update him. She did not take lightly to mutiny and knew that if she _really_ wanted an in with James, this was the way to do it. 

James was looking forward to meeting the traitor and his cohorts. 

Later that day, James found himself in his office at the brothel he ran, talking to a few of the men and women he employed there, collecting information about some of the more important people who frequented the place. 

Those who worked there only had a few rules to which they had to adhere, the main one being that if any of them had clients who were people of importance—politicians, other bosses (not Steve, of course), the rich and the famous—James was the first to know and they were to gather as much information as possible. 

It was an easy way of gaining intel to put away for a rainy day or make use of right away. For example, one of the mayoral candidates had not exactly found favor with James after a quick review of his policies and aspirations for the city. Assassination was always messy and much too cliché. It only made other candidates more determined to squash crime syndicates. Blackmail tended to work a lot better at quietly removing the more objectionable candidates without the negative response plus, if James was being honest, it was a lot more fun. 

Thankfully, said mayoral candidate also turned out to be quite the sex addict. He often frequented the brothel, despite his wife and three kids, to enjoy long nights with some of James’ male workers. There was almost too much blackmail material to choose from and the man talking to James hadn’t even gotten to the real information yet. 

James wrinkled his nose in distaste as he reported this all to him from where James sat on a luscious red velvet couch, the man in front of him in a chair. James’ moral compass might have been all over the place but that didn’t mean it didn’t work at all. Even a broken clock is right twice a day and James did not approve of extramarital affairs. If there was anything James believed in, it was loyalty. 

It was a long evening of information harvesting and seeing as Dmitri was coordinating the search for their rat, he had assigned one of his men, Vitaly, to be James’ aid for the rest of the day, which James was not particularly pleased about. He did not feel comfortable to speak freely with Vitaly like he did Dmitri, so instead he sat there in his usual brooding silence, bored out of his mind, while Vitaly took notes on everything that was said. 

When James finally arrived home that evening, Dmitri joined him not long afterwards for dinner as they often did. 

“ _How goes the search?”_ James asked, sitting at the table in just his trousers and shirt now, no tie or waistcoat, even his hair was a tiny bit mussed. He took a bite of his steak.

“ _Well,”_ Dmitri answered, cutting his own, “ _we found two others working with him. We have not found him yet but it’s only a matter of time before his associates give him up.”_ James hummed in approval. “ _How was the afternoon with Vitaly?”_

James scoffed. “ _I’ve met furniture that makes better conversation.”_

Dmitri chuckled. “ _He does not have much in the personality department, that is true. But he is my best man.”_

James huffed but did not comment further, sipping his wine and finishing his meal in silence until Dmitri spoke again. 

“ _Would you be interested in seeing Clint and Natalia again?”_

James sighed. “ _Dmitri, I told you I am not looking for anything casual.”_

_“Not for sex just… for company. Surely they are better than Vitaly.”_

James considered it for a moment. It had not been a terrible evening. They were pleasant people, entertaining even. Natalia had a fiery spirit and quick wit that James respected and Clint? Well, he was a unique person. And honestly, a pile of shoes would be more appealing company than Vitaly. 

“ _When?”_

Dmitri smiled. “ _Whenever is good for you.”_

_“Where?”_

“ _Same answer._ ” 

“I _will let you know.”_

_“Understood.”_

When dinner was over, they had a digestif in the study and talked a while longer. Eventually, James got up from the couch and stretched, putting a marker in his book and sitting it down on the coffee table. 

He looked over at Dmitri. “ _I don’t really feel like I have to tell you anymore to take the guest room.”_

Dmitri smiled, his finger holding his spot in his own book. “ _No, you don’t. Thank you.”_

James nodded and headed off to bed with a yawned goodnight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinks at the bar again, James catches his rat, and then takes a day off.

The next time they met together was a week from then and, at James’ suggestion, they again met at the bar. 

“I’m glad you wanted to meet again,” Clint said, coming over from behind the bar to lean across and once again shake James’ hand. James took his hand, curious as to why he was behind the bar and then he figured he must work here. 

“Of course. I had a nice evening last time,” he told him and a moment later the bartender brought over a vodka for James and Dmitri and sat something else down for Clint. “What’s your poison?” 

Clint’s breathing hitched slightly before he understood what James meant. Yes, he had realized last time that James was not going to kill him and was actually quite human and pleasant _but_ that didn’t mean he had totally purged from his mind the fact that the man patiently waiting for Clint to answer a simple question was the same man who struck fear into the hearts of grown men. 

“I, uh,” he stuttered, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “It’s a gin rickey. Gin, lime juice, seltzer water. I always tell my bartender, Phil, to just surprise me when I come in.”

“ _Your_ bartender?” James asked. Dmitri tasted his vodka and then swapped his shot glass for James’. James picked it up and downed it and Clint took the empty glass to refill before he answered, placing it back down in front of him and wondering what the switching had been about but he did not ask. Instead he added it to his steadily growing list of questions he hoped to one day be close enough to James to ask. 

“Yeah, this place is mine. In all her broken, dusty glory. Bought her back in ‘43 when I got back,” he explained, gesturing around himself to the bar that was gradually filling up with people as the hour grew later. The noise levels were increasing too and midway through Clint’s sentence, he had to raise his voice. 

“It’s a good investment,” James said and it was, especially to own a bar in these post-prohibition times and to be what seemed such a neutral place. James looked around and saw Italians, some Irish he did not recognize, some African-Americans, Asian-Americans and many, many more people of all backgrounds. It was quite a feat and it impressed him. 

Granted, segregation had not taken root up north like it had in the south but separation of peoples still tended to occur naturally more often than not and was in large part due to the existence of the mobs. People had a hard time being seen mingling with those of another background without someone seeing and spreading rumors about traitors. But here? Everyone seemed to be living in some kind of man-made eutopia. 

“Thanks, I thought so as well. Natalia called me a fat-head for a month and then we started getting business. She was wrong that time,” he said somewhat proudly, taking a generous sip of his drink. Dmitri grinned at the use of ‘that time’ implying the other times she called him a fat-head were completely justified. 

“That she was,” James agreed, pointing to Clint’s drink. He downed his vodka first and then said, “I’d like to try one of those.” 

“Coming right up.” 

Dmitri got up and went over to watch the bartender on the pretense of wanting to know how to make it and that left James and Clint alone. Natalia was still working and would be there soon.

Clint was quickly learning that there was absolutely no playbook to follow when it came to the situation he now found himself in. There was no guidance manual detailing the Dos and Don’ts of meeting up with one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the tristate area _._

He watched James for a moment, leaning forward on the bar and holding his drink. James’ attention was directed towards where Dmitri had gone but his gaze seemed detached, unfocused. Clint didn’t think he was really seeing anything and he couldn’t help but wonder what this man could possibly be thinking about.

Clint wanted to talk to him, though. How many people got the opportunity to make idle chit chat with James Romanov and live to tell the tale? Plus he was confused, and Clint was often confused about things, but this went beyond watching Natalia throw a frisbee and wonder what witchcraft she had learned in her spare time that enabled it to fly straight over to him. This was more about James as a person. 

Clint had never given much thought to what a mob boss would be like up close and personal. He knew Dmitri worked for the Russians but he’d never realized he worked directly for Winter himself and Dmitri had never told until two weeks ago. After that, Clint had begun to wonder. 

This man was dangerous, certainly, and he had looked dangerous when they first met, all heavy set dark eyebrows over a lethal gaze and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the sizeable blade Clint had noticed sat semi-concealed on his hip at all times. 

But now? Sitting here at Clint’s bar watching Phil make drinks James by no means looked _soft_ or even approachable—he wasn’t even sure what word to use just yet—but Clint realized his default was not terrifying. That was just something he could do very well. 

Was ‘how was your day’ an acceptable question? Or ‘did you have trouble finding the place?’ That one was _probably_ leaning towards ridiculous since Dmitri drove and they had both been to the bar before. 

So Clint, after racking his brain for a safe, easy topic, opted for: “Are you a sports kinda fella?” 

James, who had in fact ventured into his thoughts, turned to Clint with a sort of amused look. Or at least, Clint thought it looked amused. He didn’t know James well enough to be able to understand how to read the subtle nuances of his facial expressions. 

“Not really. I’ve never been much of a follower. You?” _Dammit_ , Clint swore internally. 

“Yeah, baseball. I’ll watch anything really but baseball has a special place in my heart. Especially the Brooklyn Dodgers. That’s my team. So what _do_ you like?” 

James smiled and nodded as Clint spoke. How was he supposed to answer that? He didn’t care for sports, no, but his other hobbies included murder and knives and that was certainly not polite conversation. “I enjoy science and music. Boxing,” he added as an afterthought. 

It was not a lie. He did have a soft spot for science, especially when he could see leaps and bounds being made in technology. He did not normally attend the science expos held for obvious reasons but he always read about them, sometimes even saving the more interesting clippings. Such as the article he’d seen that morning about a Dr Abraham Erskine who was doing wonders for the medical field. 

Music was a definite love of his, instilled in him by his mother. She taught him everything he knew and had spent hours with him and his sister at the piano, teaching them to play while their father pretended not to watch and smile. 

Boxing, however… while James _did_ enjoy a good match between himself and his personal trainer Sasha, he also enjoyed the income from the few professional fighters he, well, _owned_ for lack of a better word. 

And he did enjoy watching them fight. He liked that boxing wasn’t just throwing punches aimlessly, so he had followed the sport for a few years now. There was a lot of thinking required, analyzation and observation too. The sizing up of one's opponent, deducing their weaknesses to use against them while also working out how to best use one’s own strengths. He could appreciate anything involving that much strategy and careful calculation. 

“That’s a sport!” Clint said, hoping his relief wasn’t too obvious. He put science and music on his Questions List for another time and focused on one topic for now. “Got a favorite boxer?” 

“Jack Dempsey was one of my favorites when he was still competing. Joe Louis now, without a doubt. Especially when it comes to choosing heavyweights.” 

“Mm, I agree.” 

James watched Clint’s face as he nodded and then he leaned forward, holding Clint’s gaze easily. “You don’t know who they are, do you?” 

Clint stared back at him for another few seconds, trying to keep a straight face and failing. Yes, he was happy James was indeed interested in a sport but could he not have chosen a sport Clint knew more about? Like a _ball throwing sport._ “Not a single clue.” 

James leaned back again and his serious expression lightened, his mouth curling up at the ends into a smile and he chuckled. “I appreciate the attempt at bonding.” The fact that his smile did not fade away quickly was not something that went unnoticed by James. Clint was showing a real talent for making him laugh and smile. 

“Anytime,” Clint told him. 

James, when he was being _James_ , was warm and funny. He could be flirty even—when relaxed—and his looks certainly helped. He was by no means short but definitely smaller than Clint had imagined Winter to be and while Clint could tell he was well-built under his suit jacket, he was hardly the size of, say, Steve Rogers. 

Dmitri came back over with James’ drink and set it down in front of him. James nodded his approval and took a sip. “Oh. That is good.” He slid the drink over to Dmitri to taste despite knowing that Dmitri most likely already had tasted it. 

With a few drinks in their systems, the atmosphere around the three of them was much more relaxed and James could even forget for a few minutes who he was. Not that he was ashamed of who he was or what he did but he normally avoided social settings such as these unless Steve was also present because his reputation proceeded him with a twenty mile head start. He barely had time to get out a ‘hello’ before the looks started and the ‘yessirs’ and just general royalty treatment. When he was _working_ , that was his preferred reaction. When he was just trying to be James and not Winter, he wanted to be _James_. 

“I teach dance,” Natalia answered James who asked, sitting beside him now after having finally arrived. Clint had personally made her a vodka martini, extra dry, two olives. “I was a prominent ballerina as a little girl in Russia.” James knew that also meant that leaving was very difficult and those visits home that she took were also quite risky. The Bolshoi ballerinas were not easily let go. 

“And you?” Clint asked reflexively. James chuckled for real that time. “I mean,” he began to ramble and Natalia just sighed and sipped her martini, content to watch Clint get flustered. “You know, obviously I _know_ what you do. Kinda. Vaguely. Like a general… idea? Unless I’m not supposed to in which case you’re probably a chimney sweep in a _really_ expensive suit.” Clint slammed his own mouth shut with an audible _clack_ of his teeth to stop himself. 

“It’s fine that you know. I would be surprised if you didn’t. Does it bother you?” He looked at both of them. Natalia shrugged, not even looking up from the cocktail she was steadily drinking. For a small woman, she could hold her liquor but it wasn’t all that surprising. She was Russian after all. 

“It only bothers me if we never get to see your big fancy house, mister mob,” Clint ventured, feeling brave since James hadn’t reacted negatively to his speech avalanche. He was trying to feel out where exactly he stood with this man because so far he didn’t seem bothered by Clint being Clint. 

James was constantly caught off guard by the way Clint spoke to him and it made him _almost_ snort. He was quite a refined man and he did not snort but he _almost_ did. And Clint did that. 

“The next time we meet will be at mine,” James said simply, a curious smile on his face, and Dmitri turned to him, asking if he was sure. James shrugged like Natalia had. “Why not?” 

  
  


+

James stood in one of his many offices at the window looking out at the city, his hands clasped together behind his back and eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

Being back at the hospital where he currently was brought back the memory of finding Tony bloody and beaten in his old home, reminded him of the things they did to Howard—that part made him smile a little though. 

It brought back the memory of the first time James realized Steve was already gone for Tony, seeing him sit day and night by his bed even during the stretches where he didn’t wake for a good eight hours. Still Steve remained, finding something to do or going to sleep as well. 

It had stung. No, it had hurt like a shot through his chest but there was no way in hell James was out to ruin what could potentially be a good thing if Tony ever came around to the idea of it. The boy had been through too much to have anything else that made him happy taken from him. Yes, James had still confessed but more to once and for all get it out there and be able to move on than to win Steve over. 

He tried to pull his thoughts away from that painful subject and move on to something more neutral and enjoyable. 

His mind went to the idea of getting a pet, seeing as the emptiness of his home had become so profound lately. He had always liked cats. A cat would be a great companion to come home to and Dmitri also liked cats, which was good since he spent so much time in James’ home. He wondered if Clint liked cats? He seemed more of a dog person. He reminded James _of a dog_ in the best possible way, to be honest, but perhaps— 

James stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks because _why_ was he thinking about Clint? _Why_ did it matter if Clint liked cats or not? Sure he was planning to have them over to his house for a meal but… 

He didn’t even know how to carry on his thought. He’d never been one to get easily sidetracked so this was strange. 

Thankfully, Dmitri came in to give James some relief from himself. 

“ _We found them all_ ,” he said, fixing his tie which was just a tad askew and upon further inspection James saw blood on his knuckles and shirt sleeve. 

“ _Where are they now?”_

_“On the fifth floor.”_

_“Dmitri, I owe you a drink. Good work.”_

Dmitri beamed. “ _Thank you.”_

James turned and was making his way for the door, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow when he stopped, looking Dmitri up and down. “ _If you need to change your shirt…”_ He trailed off, gesturing to the wardrobe that was in this office as well and Dmitri thanked him again but wanted to join first and then change. 

James’ smile was something a little wild, a little deranged, his lips curling up and there was a dangerous glint in his icy blue eyes. “ _Let’s go._ ” 

Word had not really spread that James was taking care of things like this because the Russians did not like to gossip and knew it was better for their health and well-being to only spread what they were told to, so it came as a terrible surprise for the traitor when the doors opened to the very same room that had once housed Howard and James walked in instead of some low rung lackey or simply Dmitri alone. 

The man gasped and began pleading, crying and apologizing. He was already in bad shape with a black eye and busted lip, plus the visible blood on his shirt from some unseen injury, but he knew he was in for a level of pain he couldn’t imagine if James was in the room. 

“ _Please, Winter, I am sorry. I will never again do such a stupid thing. I was actually hoping she would_ give _me information! For you to use. I promise,_ that _was my intention. To help you, Winter, not to—“_

James, his hands in his pockets and expression serene, kicked out a leg and his foot came into contact with the man’s jaw, all with only a minimal change in James’ expression. The sound of his shoe meeting bone and the bone cracking was enough to make Dmitri wince but James did not. The man went down, having already been on his knees. 

James walked over to stand above him, hands still in his pockets and he looked down at the unfortunate soul. Down at his bloody, now disfigured, face. 

“ _You knew what you were doing. If I were you, I wouldn’t add to your punishment by insinuating I am an idiot who would believe otherwise,”_ James said calmly. James squatted down, his knife in his hand now, and the man whimpered, unable to speak anymore. James’ equally terrifying and beautiful smile returned. “ _But I’m_ very _glad you’re here. I needed a distraction.”_

It was satisfying and James hoped it would be enough but it wasn’t. All three men were dealt with accordingly for their actions and yet the high, the sense of fulfillment, faded faster than James remembered it happening before. 

It was a solid day that he was able to ride the accomplishment of catching them and assigning punishment and he felt reinvigorated. Like a new man about town and that awful, terrible, no-good aching in the pit of his stomach that had been twisting his insides day in and day out for the last few weeks was quiet. 

For a day. 

The next day, it was back and seemingly with a vengeance and James only barely made it out of bed. 

He stumbled downstairs into his kitchen and contemplated getting drunk at eight in the morning but decided against it only because he figured getting drunk alone would not improve matters. 

There was nothing James wanted more in the world right at that moment than to phone Steve, go down to James’ basement to his private bar where they always met, drink and maybe even smoke a cigar. He just wanted to _talk_ to Steve but he also knew he couldn’t. It would be too painful still and he couldn’t even imagine how Steve felt now that he had had time to think everything over. 

Steve was such a jump first, think later kind of guy. That evening in his bedroom when he’d apologized for not returning James’ feelings… it probably had not yet occurred to him how selfish it was of James to do that in the first place but now? Oh, now it had certainly sunk in and James would be lucky if he had a friend to go back to once he got his heart under control. 

Eventually, he found himself in Anna’s—his sister—old room. He hadn’t changed a single thing. His parents’ room, yes, but not Anna’s. Never Anna’s. It stayed the same and it was never used. 

He sat on the edge of her bed, his hand spread out and moving across the blanket on top. He looked around at the books and the pair of ballet shoes hung on the back of the chair. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what she sounded like. 

She was such a pain in his ass. Five years younger than him and she was a tyrant but he adored her. She loved her brother too, she just preferred to pretend like she didn’t. James missed his mother on occasion, his father rarely nowadays, but Anna? Anna he missed almost always and it brought with it that pain he’d carried the last nine years. 

And that? _That_ was more painful than his broken heart so he decided to change his 8am drinking policy and Dmitri found him a few hours later asleep in the study on the couch with a picture of himself and Anna in his hand and the open bottle of scotch on the table, nearly empty. 

Dmitri put the bottle away, put the photo back on James’ desk where it always sat, cleaning the fingerprints off of it, pulled one of the heavy blankets off the back of the couch and covered James with it, sliding a pillow under his head as well. It was a sign of just how drunk he had gotten that he didn’t wake up. 

As Dmitri moved away from the couch, his foot hit something else and he found another bottle on the ground. That one completely empty. 

He turned the lights out in the study, save for a single candle he left burning on the mantle above the fireplace, and headed for the kitchen where he disposed of the bottle and looked for something to eat. 

He would stay there for the night. He had an apartment not too far from James’ home but he spent a lot of his nights here. He, too, did not care to be alone too often and he found he was very comfortable in James’ home with him, which was not something most people could say or even imagine. 

He sat at the table to eat his snack, picking up the days’ paper he hadn’t gotten the chance to read yet and thinking about James and his situation. 

In all the years he had known and worked for him, the man had almost never taken a day off for anything other than ‘today is my day, handle the business.’ Never for sick days, never to deal with anything bothering him, never for anything where he didn’t decide for himself ‘today, I will not work.’ 

Except for the one time. After his family was killed. That was the only time Dmitri remembered and he hardly remembered that seeing as he had just started working for James. 

It seemed James was finally going to be forced to take one of those off days and Dmitri was relieved. He was getting worried about him and his increased involvement in the trivial but violent aspects of his business. He, too, had noticed the zoning out and had been extra observant since Clint had passed along his theory of loneliness. 

Dmitri ate another of the cold pierogies he had found in the fridge and thought about everything that needed to be done tomorrow. Not a lot, nothing James wouldn’t normally delegate to Dmitri anyway so he would do it all and let James have his day. 

He knew Steve was James’ Achilles heel, he just hadn’t realized to what extent until now. Dmitri also had a somewhat hard time grasping the concept, seeing as romantic attraction was something he had yet to experience. He wasn’t sure why, it had just never happened for him but he was also not bothered by that fact. It wasn’t that he craved it, he just knew it was normal to want it but he was content with his abnormality in not wanting it. He was happy with his little group of people though he did sorely miss bickering with Dugan and, well, Dugan in general. 

He went back to the study after finishing his snack to check on James. He popped the last one in his mouth as he entered the room and then froze. The candle was still burning but the blanket was half on the floor and the couch was James-less. 

He took a half step back and let out an embarrassing squeak when his back bumped into James’ chest. 

“Sorry,” James apologized in English, still quite drunk which was a testament to his stealth skills. 

Dmitri whirled around and caught sight of his boss. He looked like a hot mess. His hair was disheveled, some of it stuck to his forehead, his shirt was untucked, and his face had a days’ worth of stubble covering it. He ran a hand through his hair and mussed it even more. 

“ _Everything okay?_ ” 

James narrowed his eyes, watching Dmitri, and then he looked away towards the couch and back to him again, trying to read his dark eyes. “ _Not really, but you knew that, didn’t you?”_ Dmitri nodded. “ _Thank you. For cleaning. And the blanket._ ” 

“ _Of course. Anything else?”_

James sighed. “ _I’m going to sleep. You staying?”_ Dmitri nodded. 

“ _You should take the day tomorrow.”_

James nodded, turning towards the hallway and Dmitri followed after quickly going into the room to blow out the candle. 

“ _I think you’re right.”_

The next evening Dmitri found James again after a day of taking care of everything he had to do to give James the rest he needed. 

James was in his kitchen with the paper sat on the table, a coffee and biscuits from the _babushka_ he liked and trusted on the table. He was staring straight ahead, deep in his thoughts, and when Dmitri sat down, James spoke. 

“ _Anything to report?”_

“ _Nothing worth reporting, business as usual,”_ Dmitri answered. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and said “ _Winter—James—let me help.”_

_“I’m really not in the mood for company, Dmitri, as nice as Clint and Natalia are—”_

_“No, let me help in a different way.”_ James raised a single eyebrow and waited for an explanation. Instead of saying anything, Dmitri simply got up and motioned for James to follow, which he did. 

He made his way down to the basement and James hesitated but continued, more out of curiosity than anything else. 

Dmitri went behind the bar that James had down there and poured two drinks—just two vodkas, no ice—and placed them each on the counter. 

James stood a ways away, just watching, as Dmitri leaned on the bar. 

“ _I can either stay on this side or join you on the other side. What’s your preference_?” 

“ _I don’t understand. What are you doing_?” 

“ _From my experience, and it’s a lot of experience_ ,” he said, making James smile just the tiniest bit, “ _you look like you need to talk. Rogers isn’t here so I’m the next best option, right? I mean, I know you, and of course what’s said here stays here.”_

“ _Dmitri,”_ James began, his voice firm now and he moved closer to the bar. Dmitri swallowed, his jet black eyebrows knitting together in worry that this was the wrong move and he was overstepping. “ _Don’t ever doubt my trust in you. I may not always be the best about showing it but you are like, no, you_ are _family.”_ He wanted to say, _you’re all I have left_ but he didn’t. Instead, he added, “ _You’re like a brother to me and I’m sorry that I didn’t make that clear.”_

Dmitri looked away and then down at the ground, his jaw flexing and he sniffed, determined not to get teary-eyed over that because apart from James, Clint and Natalia, he had no one. He lost his mother to tuberculosis and his father in the war. That was why he joined the mob, for a sense of belonging. He was just lucky enough to have been noticed by James and taken under his wing. 

He gave James a soft smile. James took a seat and then patted the barstool beside him. Dmitri came around and sat. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” James said. “ _I appreciate everything you do for me.”_ Dmitri smiled. “ _I think I will have water though, I’m still nursing a nasty headache from yesterday.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natalia dine at the Romanov home. James has a meeting with the future mayor.

James’ low mood persisted another few days but after the talk with Dmitri it did initially improve and he went back to work but he was on autopilot, just going through the motions and he had even pulled back from his direct involvement in dispensing punishment. 

He had a few meetings with Madam Gao, following the favor she had done him of reporting his rats, to discuss territory and distribution rights of her products. Dmitri set up a private art museum showing for him with the added bonus of being able to purchase some of the collection if he was interested—his mother had been interested in still life, particularly Paul Cezanne and Édouard Manet, so James bought it when he came across it—and then James spent the rest of the week alternating between his various offices for no reason other than an inability to sit still. 

He did spend a few hours that week in the gym with his trainer, Sasha, but after the second round when he cracked one of Sasha’s ribs with a particularly deadly blow, he had to give up that distraction as well, and settled for the sandbags and weights. He did feel bad, though, and set Sasha up at his hospital in a very nice room. 

He needed another distraction but nothing temporary. He needed something solid, something worth the effort it would require to truly get his mind off everything and that was when he remembered the invite he had extended a little while ago. He hadn’t seen them in some time and he wondered if they would still be interested in accepting. 

Getting off his phone call, he drummed his fingers along the windowsill where he stood, looking out at the street in front of him that he could see from his main office. 

He went to the door and opened it to see a very frightened young man passing by who had stopped immediately and was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Most passed by James’ office door with a speed that was entirely unnecessary and this poor kid wasn’t fast enough but, thankfully, James had an easy task for him. 

“ _Go find Dmitri and bring him here,”_ he said, closing the door again and going back to his seat to pick up the daily paper and finish reading until Dmitri arrived.

Dmitri came in about an hour later. He needed to first finish something he was tending to down at the docks in Sheepshead Bay. 

“ _Everything okay?_ ” he asked as he entered, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down on the couch. James lowered his paper and gave Dmitri a smile. 

“ _How’s dinner sound?”_

_“Uh… fine?”_

_“With Clint and Natalia.”_

_“That’s what you made that poor kid burst a lung trying to find me for?”_ He chuckled. 

_“Yes and no. I would like you to call them and arrange a date and time but I have another task for you as well,_ ” he explained, picking up the folded piece of paper he had written on during his phone call. “ _Set this up.”_

Dmitri took it, read it and nodded. “ _I’m guessing here, yes?”_ James nodded and Dmitri stood, buttoning his jacket closed again. _“Consider both things done.”_

+

Dmitri picked up and drove Natalia and Clint to James’ home, Clint staring out the window trying to guess which unnecessarily large home would be his. Just because where he lived was not a safely guarded secret did not mean that everyone and their dog just _knew_ where his home was. 

Dmitri stopped in front of a large three-story building. It was beautiful outside with its light-colored stone and huge dark-wood door. There was a spacious semi-circle drive in front of it where Dmitri pulled in and Natalia began getting out while Clint just stared in awe. 

“That’s not a home, that’s a _mansion,_ Meech. I mean sure, I expected a certain level of ooh-la-la and I have got on a decent suit but I should’ve worn my dress coat and top hat,” Clint complained, genuinely a little worried that he was dangerously underdressed to even be sitting in the driveway of this place, let alone to go inside and eat at the table. 

Dmitri scoffed. “Get out of the car, Clint.” 

“I will,” he said, opening the door and stepping out, “but I won’t like it.” Dmitri rolled his eyes but chuckled.

He got out and clapped a hand to Clint’s back. “You look fine. James won’t care.” 

“Pfft, says the fella in the suit worth more than my bar,” Clint retorted. 

Natalia, wearing a gown and fur coat so beautiful Clint didn’t even want to know what poor sap she’d conned into buying them for her or how much he’d lost in the process, snapped her fingers at them from where she stood on the steps leading to James’ front door. 

“If I get a cold because you two decided to have a conversation out in the snow, one of you will be dying,” Natalia said, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight and making her look like some kind of regal, predatory cat. Both Dmitri and Clint immediately shut up and headed up the stairs. 

Dmitri unlocked the door and let them inside and then Clint _and_ Natalia fell silent and stopped where they were, Dmitri shutting the door behind them and then they were being enveloped by a lovely warmth inside the breathtaking home. They had only made it as far as the entranceway and already Clint’s clothing choice dread grew. 

The entranceway to his home was almost intimidatingly beautiful. The dark wood, high ceilings with intricate carvings into the paneling, the rich greens and reds of the curtains and carpets, gold decorations in some places. Clint was sure nothing in here cost less than the entire apartment building he and Natalia lived in. 

In front of them was a grand staircase made of the same wood and about ten feet wide, splitting off to the left and right to curve around and lead to the second level. On either side of the staircase was a closed door. The one on the right leading to the basement and on the left to the kitchen and above them hung a shimmering crystal chandelier. 

There was a table on either side of the area they stood in upon which sat vases that looked about as expensive as everything else and Clint barely wanted to breathe in their direction. He found himself toying with the sleeve of his jacket, feeling incredibly out of place for the first time since meeting James. Sure, finding out who he was came as a shock but this? Oh, _this_ was uncomfortable. 

“Dmitri,” Clint began, about to make another comment about the obvious difference in quality between himself and the house when James came out of the door on the left side of the stairs, an apron on, dusting his hands off and reaching back to untie the apron and hang it on the stand in the hallway. 

“Welcome,” he said, his lips pulling into a smile that felt good. He was _pleased_ to see them. He had been looking forward to this all day and the time had finally come. 

He went to Natalia first, one hand coming up to gently hold her elbow while he leaned in and kissed each of her cheeks and then he stepped back and held out his arms. 

“May I take your fur?” James asked and Natalia would be lying if she said she wasn’t shocked. James had seemed nice enough, relaxed enough, at the bar where he was _trying_ to blend in but here he didn’t have to do that, so why was he? Here he could be the high and mighty man without worry that he might be scaring off all the patrons. Here he could boss Dmitri around but he didn’t. Instead, he asked to take Natalia’s coat. 

Her eyes slid to Dmitri who was watching her expectantly. She raised an eyebrow and Dmitri nodded. She turned back to James, turning slowly and dropping her shoulders so he could slip the fur off. 

“That’s a lovely dress. You look beautiful, Natalia,” James said, unfazed by their silent exchange, holding the fur in his arms. Dmitri went to the wardrobe in the entranceway and took out a hanger and took the coat from James who did not protest but neither did he ask Dmitri to do that. Natalia was quickly becoming intrigued by James Romanov and ‘intrigued’ didn’t even begin to describe what Clint was. 

James came over to Clint next and did much the same, leaned forward with a hand resting on his arm as he kissed each of his cheeks, and then offered to take his jacket. Clint slowly, confusedly, removed it and handed it to him and watched him hang it up in the wardrobe like there was nothing odd about it at all. Like the head of the Russian frigging mob wasn’t standing there taking the coat of some lowly bar-owner. 

Dmitri in the meantime had hung up his own coat in the wardrobe and stood beside James who smiled again as he said, “You look very nice as well, Clint.” 

Clint did his best not to let his eyes narrow in suspicion, wondering if James was just being nice, and instead thanked him. It was only after he said thank you that Clint noticed how incredibly dressed down James himself was. Well, dressed down for a wealthy person. The clothes, although simple, were still of a higher quality than anything Clint could ever hope to afford and his hair was styled to perfection in its usual neat, wavy slickback. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” he told them, turning and gesturing for them to follow him back through the door he had come through into the kitchen where a heavenly smell greeted them and Clint momentarily forgot his financial worries as his stomach growled loudly and mouth began to water. 

It took Clint almost two whole minutes to notice his surroundings. The kitchen, unlike the entranceway, was incredibly… well, normal. It wasn’t gold-plated as Clint had assumed it might be nor was there another chandelier hanging above the table where they sat. 

The floors were a simple dark and light tile, the cabinets a dark green color. There was a window above the sink and otherwise the room was lit by ordinary lighting fixtures. The table was nice, large, but nothing special and the food looked homemade. 

Clint was very confused and James noticed it as he brought the food to the table from where it was sat on the stovetop, Dmitri helping. 

“The dining room is quite ostentatious,” James said, and Clint looked up at him, his head tilting to the side as he listened. “As is much of the rest of the house but the kitchen she kept simple. I prefer to eat in here. I find it’s more… relaxed, more conducive to easy conversation.” 

He sat down and lifted the top off the first dish, revealing a beautifully cooked whole chicken with vegetables surrounding it. In the next pot were potatoes and then a bowl of salad and another of bread were also available to them. 

Clint let James and Dmitri serve him and Natalia, growing more confused and intrigued by the minute. It was Natalia who spoke up first to air her questions. 

“Who kept the kitchen simple?” she asked, her green eyes watching him curiously.

“My mother,” he answered, lowering some potatoes onto his own plate. “When my parents bought the house after they moved here, it was in dire need of renovation. Or so they told me. Everything you see is my mother’s design. Save for one or two additions I’ve made since then.” 

He sat now and lifted his knife and fork, looking at each of them in turn. “ _Priyatnogo appetita,_ ” he said, raising his glass of wine that Dmitri had poured and clinking it with each glass at the table. 

Clint took a bite, unable to ask any of his questions until he had at least tasted the food in front of him because it smelled _so_ good. He hummed in delight when he’d finally gotten a bite, turning to James. “Did… did _you_ cook this?” 

James nodded. “My mother insisted that not only my sister learn how to cook. It started as a chore. I enjoy it now.” 

“As you should, it’s delicious,” Natalia told him and he thanked her. 

They chatted about the recent news for a little while as they ate and took second helpings of food. Clint joined in every now and then but mostly he just added to his list of endless questions to ask James. He wouldn’t bombard him if he could help it but there was just so much he wanted to know. 

“Do you live here by yourself?” Clint asked after feeling he had waited sufficient time between his last question and this one. James looked up from the piece of chicken he was cutting. 

“For the most part, yes,” James answered, going back to his food. 

“For the least part,” Dmitri began with a small smile, “I stay here often in one of the guest rooms upstairs.” 

“It’s hardly a guest room anymore,” James told him, still looking down at his plate. “We should just start calling it your room.” Dmitri’s smile widened and he nodded. He _would_ start doing that. 

Clint and Natalia watched the exchanges between them. Dmitri, they knew, loved his boss. They could tell that just by the way he spoke of him when James wasn’t around and how he behaved. He was very comfortable here in his presence. The question for both of them had been ‘does James care about Dmitri?’ It was becoming increasingly clear that although he kept it just one rung below the surface, he did indeed care very much for him. 

“Your folks moved out?” Clint asked, taking his wine to take a sip. Dmitri shot him a glare and Clint froze, not exactly sure what he had done wrong. 

James’ knife stopped moving and he continued to stare down at his food. He looked up slowly, his face calm, unreadable. 

“They and my sister passed away some time ago.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. And sorry for the way I asked.” James nodded and reached for the bottle to refill his wine glass. 

“That’s alright. It’s a natural question you might have.” James finished his last bite and then leaned back in his chair, looking up at Clint who was still watching him. They locked eyes for a long minute and then James gave him the tiniest hint of a smile before asking, “Would you like a tour?” 

“Yes, please,” Clint said, very excited to see the rest of the house. Natalia wiped her mouth with her serviette and said a tour would be nice and both of them followed James out of the kitchen while Dmitri began cleaning up, already knowing the house so well he could roam it blind-folded. 

James led them through a door to the dining room which was, as James had said, much more majestic than the kitchen. It matched the aesthetic of the entranceway with high ceilings, a long, beautifully crafted mahogany table and a huge intricately designed cabinet at the back of the room containing beautiful dishware. 

“Ah, there’s the chandelier above the table,” Clint said and James chuckled, leading them out of the dining room. 

From there they went through a pair of large double doors into a hallway and James showed them his study which tripled as a library and the living room area. It was one enormous room that must have spanned the length of the block the house was on with a desk at the far end of the room that could be closed off behind two large, wooden sliding doors. There was a grand fireplace and one wall covered floor to ceiling with books. There was a ladder that slid across to grant access to the top shelves. 

Clint couldn’t decide which corner of the room to explore first, so when Natalia moved towards the fireplace he simply followed her. 

There were couches positioned in a semi-circle in front of the roaring fire to create a cosy place to sit and read or just enjoy the warmth. A liquor cabinet rested against the wall on the other side and Natalia went to inspect its contents, smiling when she saw the vodka she brought back was sitting front and center. 

Clint went to the grand piano on the far left side of the room and ran his fingers along the top of it while James leaned back against the couch, his hands in his pockets, and watched them. 

“Who played?” Clint called across the room. 

“My mother and sister. Me too,” James answered and Clint looked over. 

“I’d love to hear something sometime.” 

James couldn’t help the smile that pulled up the corners of his lips and he promised Clint that he would play him something next time. He walked over to where Natalia was, stopping beside her. 

“See anything you like?” 

“Just admiring.” 

“If you’d like to take something, be my guest.” 

She turned to him, raised an eyebrow, and looked him up and down. Her eyebrows pulled together, a little line forming between them and she crossed her arms delicately over her chest. James just watched her, waiting for her to speak and knowing she would since she hadn’t seemed afraid to before. 

“I suppose that’s why they call them rumors,” she said. 

“How do you mean?” 

“You’re not quite the monster people make you out to be.” 

James blew air out of his nose, quirking up one side of his mouth, his hands in his pockets again. “No? What, because I offered you some of my alcohol?” 

“No,” she stated simply, “because you offered it knowing I have nothing to give you in return.” He nodded, not expecting that, but appreciating it. 

“That’s no proof, Natalia. I might still be a monster. Just a generous one.” Natalia’s smile deepened, her green eyes bright and playful. 

“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” Clint called loudly, tapping his hearing aid because it was acting up and walking over to join them. It was annoying but it was better than hearing nothing so he dealt with it. 

“Natalia was just explaining to me why I might not be a monster,” James told him casually and Clint’s eyes bugged.

“Natalia,” Clint gasped under his breath and she turned to him and shrugged her shoulders delicately. 

It was at that moment that Dmitri entered the room and nearly tripped hearing James’ words. 

James wasn’t sure she was in a position to make that assessment after only a few visits. Sure, he had limits and things he would never do no matter what, but he was also about as far from a saint as one could be. He did not think he was a monster but he felt it was more accurate than most other adjectives. Especially knowing the deterioration in his morals since his family were killed and even more so since this whole situation with Steve had made him a little more bloodthirsty than usual. 

James turned to look at Dmitri who was standing with his back to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and looking a little stressed. When James turned back, Natalia was moving her hands in a way he was unfamiliar with and then he noticed Clint doing the same and realized they were using sign language. He had never actually seen it in person before and found it fascinating. 

“My offer stands,” he told Natalia, moving over to stand beside Dmitri. “ _Tomorrow’s appointment is still confirmed?_ ” He asked Dmitri who nodded. 

“ _Yes. He will be at your office by noon.”_

_“Perfect.”_

When Clint and Natalia finally finished their conversation, Natalia looked vexed and Clint looked equally as frustrated. They turned to see James and Dmitri talking quietly to one another and then James noticed their gazes and asked if they would like to finish the tour, leading them all to the basement after explaining that the top two floors were only bathrooms and bedrooms. 

“That’s a lot even for one family,” Clint said. 

“When my parents were alive, we had lots of servants,” James explained. “Most of them lived on the second floor and my family and I on the third.” Clint mouthed ‘oh.’ 

Dmitri turned on the lights in the basement to show the side dedicated to the personal gun range and knife-throwing area. On the wall were guns of all shapes and sizes and knives as well. On the other side was the bar where James and Steve used to have their regular drinks and James couldn’t focus on either without the painful reminder of Steve. 

The bar of course reminded him of their long, intimate chats and hours of laughing and the gun range reminded him of Steve teaching Tony to shoot. Both hurt so he chose instead to look at Clint. Dmitri watched James, saw the pained set of his jaw, understood, but didn’t comment. 

“This is… was _this_ always here?” Clint asked, his eyes wide. James watched him with a smile. His awed expression did something to James’ stomach that he forced back down and ignored. 

“No, this is one of the additions I made. It comes in handy quite often.” 

“This bar is nicer than my own and it’s in a _basement_ ,” Clint muttered to himself. “This is amazing.” 

“Thank you,” James said, unsure whether or not he should comment on the first thing Clint said but chose not to. “If you’d like, we can head back up. I also prepared a dessert.” 

Clint hurried over to the door. “You had me at dessert.” 

“That was the _last_ word he said,” Natalia responded and Clint made a face at her that made James and Dmitri laugh. 

After desert, they found themselves back in the living room in front of the fire on the couches. Dmitri was sat beside James and Natalia and Clint shared one as well. 

Natalia held a glass of cognac in her hand, swirling it gently and enjoying the rich, sweet scent that wafted up to her nose. She looked up at James who was listening to something Dmitri was telling him. 

“I can only imagine what you must expect of our home seeing as _this_ is where you live,” she said, her face almost as unreadable as James’. Her lips were pulled up just slightly at one corner to indicate that there was no hostility in the statement. 

James deadpanned. “I'm sure it is a lovely home. Very warm and inviting.” She seemed to be on some unspoken mission this evening and James would continue to give her what she needed to accomplish it if for no other reason than he himself was intrigued by it.

Natalia hummed, looking down and then back up again. “Thank you. I hope the day you see it won't change that opinion.” 

Dmitri and Clint kept looking at each other and then at James and Natalia, completely confused bordering on nervous. 

The evening continued on that way. Natalia would make a statement, usually an assumption about James, and he would respond to it without a second’s hesitation, letting Natalia know that he was either telling the truth or a gifted liar. James had figured out her game about twenty questions ago but let it continue because there was nothing about her questions that encroached on truly private matters. 

The questions were thrown into the conversation here and there between the four of them so that it alternated between a subtle interrogation, shared stories and jokes, and lots of laughter in the room that evening. James enjoyed himself more than he expected to, each time he spent with them a little better than the last and seeing that on James’ face made Dmitri smile. 

As James walked them all to the door including Dmitri who would drive them home, he hugged Natalia, speaking into her ear: “And? Did I pass? Or am I still a monster?” 

When he pulled back, her expression was subtly surprised. A moment later it changed to a smile and she laughed. “Jury’s still out.” 

James laughed genuinely and leaned in to kiss her cheeks, her smile wide and sincere. He turned to Clint next and pulled him in for a hug and cheek kisses again which Clint noticed were slightly less dignified this time around and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the alcohol. It was almost a smooch on the cheek but not quite as messy though definitely a much warmer gesture than when they had first arrived. 

“Thank you both for coming,” James said, his hand still on Clint’s shoulder. 

Clint snorted. “As if we were ever going to pass up the chance to see where you live.” Dmitri elbowed him. “But thank you for the invite.” 

“My pleasure,” James said with a grin, turning to look towards Dmitri. He reached over to put a hand on the back of his neck and, in a rare display of emotion, pulled his head down so he could plant a kiss on top of it before letting go. 

When Dmitri lifted his head again, he looked shocked but happy and Natalia caught his eye and flashed him a grin. 

They piled into the car and Dmitri started the engine. 

“Did you two have a nice night?” He asked from the front seat. 

“I enjoyed it very much,” Natalia said, meaning it. “Clint?” 

“Did he kiss your head?” Clint asked. Dmitri nodded. “Has he done that before?” 

“Yes. Two or three times.” 

“What’re your thoughts on that?” 

“He says I’m like family to him,” he told Clint, pulling out of the driveway and heading down the street slowly on account of the fresh snow. “I think he was happy tonight.” The only other person Dmitri had ever seen James do that to was Steve. He did it to him often, always pulling him down since James was not as tall as Steve. Nor Dmitri for that matter. 

“Hm,” Clint said. “I had a great time. Looking forward to the next. He’s a fascinating fella.” 

“That he is,” Dmitri agreed. 

+

James sat at his desk in his main office, leaning back in the chair. His fingers were steepled in front of him and his eyes watched the clock. He was wearing a dark blue suit that was almost black. It made his eyes stand out more than usual and his expression was not a pleasant one at the moment as he waited for his noon appointment. 

It was 11:57am. James did not appreciate tardiness. 

At 11:59, there was a knock at his door and he called out for them to enter. Dmitri came in alongside another tall, black-haired man. He was very slender and almost fluid in his movements, his eyes a light green that were fixed intently on James. His face was all sharp angles, his lips a thin line pursed tightly together. 

He was led by Dmitri who motioned for him to take a seat in one of the large leather chairs in front of James’ desk. He thanked him, his voice as smooth as his movements, and sat, careful not to wrinkle his shirt. He was dressed in a gorgeous suit just a few shades darker than James’ and he lifted one jet black eyebrow after Dmitri left. 

“Mr Laufeyson,” James said coolly and the man cocked his head to the side, his expression intrigued which took James by surprise. Not that he showed it on his face but he was surprised. “Am I saying that right?” 

Mr Laufeyson nodded, crossing his legs in a swift, easy movement. He rested his arms on either side of the chair, raising one hand to his chin. “Yes, you are. And you are?” 

“You don’t know?” James countered. 

“Oh, I know what you do and where I am but I don’t know your name. Not your real name, anyway, _Winter_.” 

James leaned forward slightly, an amused smile on his face. “Then you know who I am.” It was quite clear that Mr Laufeyson was not expecting that response if his raised eyebrows were anything to go by. His calm demeanor didn’t waver but James could see he hadn’t gotten the reaction he had hoped for. 

“Loki Laufeyson,” James said, looking down at the paper on his desk all in Cyrillic. He browsed through the information on them, not actually reading anything but he enjoyed the effect his silence had on people even if this man was not as easily shaken as most it seemed.

“Norwegian immigrant parents, came to the US in 1910, mother deceased—my condolences—father alive but disabled. Lost his eye in the war.” James hummed as he read on, actually looking at the papers now. “You have a law degree from Columbia, graduated _summa cum laude,_ worked for the courts for two years and now campaigning for mayor.” James looked up at him. 

Loki’s mask was good, very good. He would be a formidable poker player, James thought, but it wasn’t perfect. He could see the surprise still on his features as James read off just a small portion of the information he had about him. Information Dmitri himself had compiled. 

“Is there something you want,” Loki asked. 

“Obviously,” James said, “I didn’t invite you here to read to you.” James shuffled the papers and put another on top with new information, looking up at Loki again. “I want you to be mayor.” 

Loki scoffed. “Me too, believe it or not.” 

James did not smile but neither did Loki. “After much observation, research, and deliberation, it appears you are the ideal candidate. Or rather, the least problematic.” Loki’s eyebrows raised at that but he didn’t speak. “We would like to see you win the election and I can very easily make that happen. All I need to know is that you’re on board with some of our other requests.” 

“Who is _we_?” 

“I speak for the Irish, the Harlem mob, the Italians, the Chinese and, unfortunately, the Japanese,” he answered. He had sent Dmitri on many errands to get their final verdicts on a mayoral candidate and Loki Laufeyson was the only stomachable one out there. 

“I see. Well that’s good to know because I have quite a good relationship with the horse races controlled by the Chinese,” Loki said, somewhat proudly. 

James chuckled. “Oh, I am very aware of everything you do and _every_ relationship you have.” James would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to hear that though. It was always easier getting corrupt candidates on board when they were already knee-deep in mob affairs. 

James began to explain in more detail what exactly it was that he would be asking of Loki. Many of Loki’s policies and the future he saw for New York City were perfectly fine. They had no intention of changing any, they wanted to add some but it wouldn’t matter in the end because no matter what Loki did or did not advertise as part of his campaign, he would win. 

James would use the information he had collected from his brothel and other sources to take down the other candidates and the ones he had been unable to procure blackmail on would be taken out of the race. Literally. 

“Any questions?” 

“Just one. Which candidates do you have no information on?” 

“Odinson and Pierce. Why?” 

Loki nodded as if he expected that. He reached for the briefcase he had brought with him and clicked it open. James watched, curious, as Loki produced a manilla folder and leaned forward to hand it to James. It was marked ‘idiot brother’ in black pen. 

James looked at it and then up at Loki, arching an eyebrow. “This is…?” 

“Odinson is my half-brother. He’s an idiot but I would much prefer him alive. Family dinners won’t be quite as interesting without him,” Loki explained and James almost cracked a smile at the nonchalant manner in which Loki spoke about his brother’s potential murder. “This is all of the information I have on him that could potentially disqualify him or at least make him want to drop out from bad press.” 

James slid the folder closer, opening it and glancing over it quickly. Very thorough. 

“Why didn’t you just use this yourself? You seem like a man with connections.” 

“My brother Thor has always bested me at everything growing up. This was a worst case scenario because I wanted to beat him fair and square this time.” 

“If I use this, won’t that nullify your ‘fair and square’ conditions?” 

Loki shrugged. “What you choose to or not to do with that information is out of my hands and control. If I win, it’s because it’s obviously what the people—” He gestured to James “—want and that sounds like fair and square to me.” 

James chuckled but just barely. “Any conditions regarding the other candidates?” 

“None. Kill ‘em.” 

James eyebrows raised. This might be the first candidate he not only liked but respected. “Fair enough. We have a few more things to discuss and then I’ll let you go back to your campaigning,” he said with a smile. 

  
  


Dmitri came in an hour later to escort Loki outside to the car that was waiting for him and then he came back to talk to James and ask him how it went.

James gave him the gist and added, “ _He reminds me of myself._ ” Dmitri waited for the inevitable next sentence. “ _Keep a close eye on him. I don’t trust him_.” 

“ _Yes, sir._ ” 

“ _Oh, and_ ,” he began, going over to his desk and picking up the folder Loki had given him. “ _Get this to Jameson at the Daily Bugle._ _Tell him I want it published in a week.”_ He handed it to Dmitri who nodded and headed out. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is strange and Clint’s going to find out what. James has an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, the next chapter won’t be posted until January 12th. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! :)

It was so cold in the house it felt like he wasn’t even inside. He curled up into a tighter ball before finally getting up to check the heater only to find that he had forgotten to turn it on overnight. He checked the time and then decided against getting back into bed seeing as he would only have an hour to enjoy it, might as well just get a head start on the day. 

Clint went to bathe and get himself ready for the day that lay ahead. He had inventory checks today and lots and lots of deliveries at the bar, plus a plumber was coming to check one of the bathrooms after a particularly rowdy weekend. 

He came into the kitchen, now fully dressed in his wide-legged trousers, tucked in button-up and sweater vest, rubbing his neck as if that would be able to take out any of the aches and pains he felt constantly. Let no one say Clint Barton wasn’t a hard worker. 

“It’s strange, right?” Clint said, looking over at Nat while he tried to adjust his hearing aid. It was bulky and annoying but he could hardly complain since it was the only thing standing between him and near-total silence. And the model he had now _was_ technically an improvement compared to the first one. 

He went straight to the coffee pot that was on the stove and poured himself a hot, steaming cup, lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply. Natalia watched him from the table where she sat with her tea and toast with apple butter, her usual breakfast. Clint was more adventurous. Or at least, that’s how _he_ described his food choices. 

He got himself a bowl, a spoon and then opened the pantry to decide which cereal would be gracing his taste buds today. He pulled out the Shredded Ralston and the Cheerios, looking between the two and then put both back and chose the Rice Krispies. He made himself a bowl and sat down at their wooden table across from Natalia who was now working on her second piece of toast. 

“Were you ever going to finish your thought or was I supposed to guess what is strange,” she said, and Clint looked up at her, a little milk on either corner of his mouth. She reached over with her napkin and wiped it away without even thinking about it. 

“Oh, right,” he said, sipping his coffee. “It’s strange to think we are, I guess, pals with James Romanov.”

“I think pals is a bit of a stretch. We are something. I’m just not sure what yet.” 

“Is that why you were givin’ him the third degree the other night? Thought you just liked courting death.” 

“It is and I do, but I don’t know… something about it all seems off.” 

“Why don’t you ask your cousin?” 

“I care deeply for Dmitri,” Natalia said, looking up at Clint as she lifted her tea cup to her always perfectly painted red lips, “but his loyalty is first and foremost to Winter, not me. If something is weird, he won’t be telling me.” 

Clint thought about that for a while. All Dmitri told them was that ‘his friend’, who later turned about to be James fucking Romanov, was having a rough time with some personal things and that company could do him some good. Originally, it was supposed to be about sex, or at least that was what Dmitri had told them. Maybe it never was. Maybe this was all some strange and elaborate… _something_. 

Clint sighed, his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to work out what was going on here. 

“You think—” 

“No.” 

“What? I barely even got my thought out. How d’you know you don’t wanna hear it?” 

“I’ve known you long enough to know how your mind works, Clint. James isn’t a vampire and he isn’t fattening us up to eat.” 

“That’s inaccurate anyway. They suck blood, but yeah… I mean, sure. Maybe that’s what my theory was… you don’t know,” he trailed off, moving his spoon around in his cereal, making little figure eights. He took a few bites, chewing slowly and Natalia was nearly finished with her breakfast. “You want me to drive you?” Clint asked around a mouthful of mushy cereal and milk. 

Natalia wrinkled her nose in disgust but nodded her head. “Yes, thank you. I have some errands to run beforehand. Drop me off at the post office.” 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Errands? As your husband, I demand to know what you’re getting up to.” 

Natalia barked out a laugh as she stood and put her dishes in the sink, walking behind Clint and giving him a light smack to the back of his head. “Paying bills, my dear _._ Those are my mysterious errands.” She disappeared down the hallway and Clint heard the door to her bedroom shut. 

They had separate rooms because the marriage was a facade. It was for their nosy neighbors and the gossipers in the area who liked to be in other people's business, spreading rumors and starting trouble. They had been fake married for seven years and only ever slept in the same bed a handful of times. 

Their previous landlord had been suspicious of them and had taken up the habit of just bursting into their apartment at all hours of the night to catch them up to no good. Natalia had barely made it across the hallway and into Clint’s bed before Mr. Killian had come down around the corner and shoved open the door, prompting a good cursing out from Clint. The man had barely looked ashamed and his multiple attempts after that were indication that shame had never been an emotion he felt. 

Thankfully, Natalia had a good cousin in the Russian mob who was more than happy to take care of that homophobic, privacy-invading piece of shit and their new landlord was a reserved man by the name of Bruce who seemed to have secrets of his own so they only ever saw him when rent was due and if they deposited it into his mailbox on time, then they never saw him. 

Clint sighed and looked down at his cereal. He had been lost in his thoughts for too long and it was soggy now. He scoffed. 

“Never loses its crunch _my ass_.” Nevertheless he finished it because Clint was not one to let any food go to waste and then he downed his coffee, and went to find his coat, heading out to the car and letting Nat know he would wait there for her. 

The car was an expensive luxury but another of those things Dmitri, who often gave them things the mob had but did not need, had pushed their way. It was owned by someone who no longer needed a car. Or oxygen. So now it was theirs. The only thing they really paid for was gasoline and they only used it in the winter when walking was you just asking to catch your death. 

Clint waited, trying to find a radio station that wasn’t just static or the news. He couldn’t care less about the news. Everything was just anti-communist propaganda which was on a larger scale simply anti-Russia and anti-Stalin and while Clint may not have agreed with the execution, the idea of communism at its most basic was not as pure evil as the US government made it out to be. Not to mention, the general anti-Russian sentiment tended to make Clint hot under the collar because he knew at least two-bordering-on-three Russians whom he would emphatically defend against all false allegations.

Finally, after a bit of frequency scanning, he found the soothing light baritone of Frank Sinatra on a station he would need to remember. He was singing _All or Nothing At All_. He turned it up slightly, slowing swaying his head to the gentle rhythm. Natalia came out a moment later and got into the car. 

“Feels colder this year,” she said, rubbing her arms. It was late February in New York, so getting cold walking from your front door to your car door was justified. 

Clint turned the engine on and began pulling out of his parking spot. “If _you’re_ saying it’s cold, it really must be.” 

“And why’s that so?” 

“You’re Russian. You guys practically invented winter.” 

Natalia chuckled, looking over at him fondly and then out the window, watching the streets go by. 

“Don’t forget. Post office first.” 

“Right,” he said, making a sudden left turn and gotten honked at for the manoeuvre. 

At the post office, Natalia tugged her fur closed and pulled her hat down further. She turned to Clint and sighed. 

“I know, I know. What a tragedy having to kiss this ugly mug,” he teased. She gave him a smile and leaned in, touching her lips just briefly to his for the sake of the nosy onlookers. She pulled back and then reached up to wipe away the lipstick stains she left on him, using her thumb to wipe across his lip. He couldn’t help his smile. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Clint.” 

“I don’t see how anyone doubts that we’re a legitimate couple.” 

Natalia reached up, running her fingers through Clint’s hair and then fixing it again, her hand falling to his cheek. “Well, maybe if you weren’t such a good husband it would be harder to keep up the act.” 

“Should I start up heavy drinking? I’ve been looking for a new hobby.” 

“You already come home smelling like a bar,” she told him, a lopsided smile on her breathtaking face. “Besides, we both know you are a lightweight.” 

“Hey, that was _one_ time.” 

She laughed and arched an eyebrow. “Okay, Clint.” 

“Go run your top secret boring errands, ya commie,” Clint told her, pushing playfully against her shoulder. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, intentionally leaving a big red lip mark. 

She looked at her work proudly, grabbing her purse and putting a hand on the door knob. “You better not wipe that off. It’s there to remind everyone that you are spoken for.” She winked at him and then got out, graceful as ever, and headed into the post office. Her ballet studio was only three blocks over and she insisted on walking, so Clint pulled out and made his way further across town to his bar, parking around back. 

It was an hour into all the things he had on his to do list that Clint realized he would actually be done earlier than he thought. The deliveries came at eight-thirty on the dot and with the help of Phil, his bartender, and Mack and Fitz, his servers, everything was unpacked and put away in record time. 

Even the plumber was punctual and finished his job rather quickly. Clint gave him a tip for his swift service because having a restroom out of commission in a bar was a no-go. 

Business was slow-going as well and Clint decided to delegate. He handed off the inventory checks to Fitz not only because Clint had an idea and would need to leave but also because he knew how precise Fitz was about everything he did. If anything was missing or not how it should be, he knew Fitz would be the person to catch it. 

Clint put on his coat and headed out, letting the others know he wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day but they seemed perfectly content and capable so they waved him off and he headed down a couple blocks to pick up some stuff, coming back to the bar to steal a little of his own product, leave a note for Fitz, and then get into his car. 

  
  


+

James had a theory, like Clint. His theory, he thought to himself as he laid in bed that same morning, having decided to skip his 5am workout, was that _if_ he didn’t care for Tony, _if_ Tony was a terrible person, it might be harder to accept what was. It might be harder to let go knowing Steve was pining after a lowlife. James would have fought harder for him in that case but, as luck would have it, Tony was a great little fella. 

And, as much as he hated to admit it a few weeks ago—though now he was able to find solace in it—he saw the way Tony looked at Steve. He knew that was more than just gratitude, more than admiration; there was affection there. James felt confident enough in his own observational skills to wager that it was a romantic affection. 

So with the theory that Tony being a good guy helped ease James’ troubled heart and the knowledge that there was hope Steve wouldn’t have to live life suffering in emotional purgatory like James, he could roll back over and sleep for a little while longer. 

When he finally woke it was to the sound of the phone ringing and he picked it up to hear Dmitri’s voice asking him if he would be needing a pick up this morning. 

For the third time since that day, James said no. Dmitri didn’t sound surprised. Normally, even if he did no actual work once he got there, he always went. He liked being present, reminding those under him that he was always watching. But today? 

Today James just wasn’t feeling up to seeing people. Today the only thing he felt up to seeing was the cool side of his pillow and the total darkness his thick curtains granted him. 

Hunger pains were what woke him this time and he decided to answer them, rolling out of his unnecessarily large bed with its expensive sheets and pillows. He stepped down onto his rug, feeling the soft material under his feet before slipping them into his house shoes and grabbing his robe. 

He made his way downstairs, feeling tired despite the extra hours of sleep he had gotten. In all honesty, James had felt a consistent tiredness for a few years now. It only ever really went away when he was able to sit back and laugh, enjoy himself. He figured it was yet another occupational hazard. It made sense that living with the knowledge that someone might try to kill you any second could, possibly, make someone a little weary, perhaps a little tired. 

James opened the refrigerator and removed the things he wanted, carrying them over to the counter beside the stove and taking out a pan. While it warmed up, he went over and turned on the radio, finding his classical station and going back to finish cooking his breakfast. Or lunch, he realized, looking up at the clock. 

He sat with his food and picked up the paper that was folded on the kitchen table. Dmitri must have been there earlier and brought it inside. He really was far better than anything for which James could have asked. As he read and ate, he also thought about ways to show his appreciation to Dmitri. 

James spent most of the early afternoon reading. He finished his paper and then headed to the study and picking up a book he had been meaning to start. It was in French, which James spoke thanks to his mother—there was a general fascination with France by many of the Russian upper class, which was why so many fled there post-revolution—and it also provided a good distraction because he had to focus a little harder than he did with English or Russian. 

Or well, the distraction worked until he passed a book in Irish, wanting to toss it directly into the fire that roared in the fireplace. He would not, though, destroy the book because it had been a gift from Sarah from one of her many visits back home to Ireland. He ran his finger slowly along the spine and kept walking, going for his desk to get a cigar. 

He found his box of cigars and opened it, clipping the end of one and sticking it in his mouth. He had them imported straight from Cuba seeing as the sixty-five cent luxury price meant nothing to him. He was looking for a box of matches when he heard the doorbell ring and he froze in his tracks because _who the hell was that_?

Dmitri had a key, Sarah had a key, Steve had never used a doorbell to enter James’ house in his _life_ , so who was ringing James’ bell? And on his day off, no less. 

He closed his robe over his house clothes and made his way for the door, the cigar still between his teeth. 

He grabbed a small blade that he kept concealed on top of a picture frame hanging in the entranceway. He held it behind his back as he swung the door open, about to speak when his thoughts dried up. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out, so he closed it and waited for an explanation, holding the cigar between his fingers now. 

“Hi. I brought burgers, beer and well, myself.” 

James continued to just stare. “I do not understand.” 

“Well,” Clint said, shifting his weight and trying not to let on that he was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and unsure about his decision to just show up on the deadliest and most powerful man in New York’s doorstep in a shitty suit, carrying greasy burgers in a _bag_ and _beer_. “My thinkin’ was we can drink the beers, eat the burgers and I could provide company.” 

James was dumbfounded. It spoke to the kind of lifestyle he had that having someone show up with food and drinks was so foreign he couldn’t even find the words to greet him properly. 

“You…? Come in,” he said finally, stepping aside to let Clint into his home. He scanned the surrounding area quickly before shutting the door again and turning to Clint. “Have I forgotten something? Did we have an arrangement?” He didn’t think so. Dmitri would have reminded him in any case. 

It was Clint’s turn to be dumbfounded and he didn’t hear James’ questions, too busy slowly going in a circle in the entranceway, his head tilted back as he looked around again. It was like seeing a brand new house now in the daytime. He wondered if he would ever grow used to this near-palatial home. 

Clint finally made it around to face James and remembered his surroundings and company, startling and bending quickly to pick up his hat that had fallen off. 

James took a moment to get a good look at him. Clint with his navy blue eyes, slightly wavy dark blond locks that were brushed back neatly, and the approachableness he almost radiated. 

He was tall, a few inches taller than James, and he seemed well-built under his ill-fitting suit. James had noticed before but it seemed even more prominent now that its color clashed with the suit, but Clint’s hearing aids sat securely in his ears, the wires going into his jacket where James assumed he had the separate battery tucked away somewhere in there along with the microphone/amplifier unit. Clint hid it well but James knew it must be a frustrating and cumbersome piece of technology.

Yes, Clint was an attractive man by anyone’s standards but by James’? The tall blond-haired, blue-eyed man who stood before him was his _ideal_ . Something about that thought made James a little sad—he knew _exactly_ what about that made him sad—so he decided not to dwell on it anymore. 

“I—this is place is even nicer in the daytime,” Clint told him which was likely the _biggest_ understatement of the year. It was not a nice home, it was an _extravagant_ home. Clint hoped he would get over just how enormous and ornate this place was so he could focus on the actual task at hand: befriending James. 

“Thank you,” James said, still wondering why exactly he was there. 

“So… are you hungry?”

“Clint, I don’t mean to be rude,” he began, because he truthfully did not, “but why are you here? Did Dmitri send you?” 

Clint tilted his head to the side in a way that, James thought, was a near spot-on imitation of a puppy. “What? No. I came on my own.” Was this the wrong move? Was James suspicious of his intentions? Clint couldn’t imagine that many people just _showed up_ at James’ private address without prior notice. Maybe this was making matters worse. He hoped not. 

“Yes, alright but… _why_?” 

“Well, I—you know. I just thought _maybe_ you’d, uh… like some company?” Clint bit his bottom lip, his dark blue eyes worried and nervous. “Is that—is that okay? I know you’re a busy man. This was a stupid, impulsive idea. I apologize, Mr Romanov. Natalia says I’m too—” Clint was word-vomiting and trying to head for the door when James grabbed him by his arm and he stopped walking and talking to turn to him. 

“It is fine. It’s _nice_ , actually. I’m not busy today. I appreciate your visit.” Clint’s expression and body relaxed and he gave James a smile. James jerked his head back in the direction behind him. “Come. Let’s eat in the kitchen. Oh and Clint?” 

Clint looked over at him, walking with him to the kitchen. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to hear ‘Mr Romanov’ ever again, understand? It’s James.” Clint nodded, a small smile appearing. 

In the last hour they had spent together eating and chatting—well, Clint eating, James only had coffee—Clint had asked a record-breaking number of questions. Mostly about the house, James’ alcohol preference, some not too graphic questions about being a mob boss and how James came to know Dmitri. 

James was not totally sold on the ‘I decided to stop by’ excuse. He was not an easily trusting man and even though Clint did not seem like he possessed a single malicious bone in his body, James couldn’t help but be at least a little skeptical. Clint’s curiosity did not worsen the skepticism but it certainly did nothing to alleviate it. Although, he had to admit, Clint’s company was pleasant, almost easy. 

“Dmitri was fifteen when he started working for me. Well, in the capacity that he is now,” James said, bringing his coffee cup to his lips. 

“What? Really?” Clint asked, still working on his fries. He had been talking so much and then was so intrigued by the answers he got that he was somehow forgetting to eat. A first for him. “That’s so young. Why would you want someone so young?” 

“I was young too, in my early twenties, and Dmitri showed real promise. He was very loyal. Everything else can be learned, loyalty cannot,” he explained. “He had already caught my attention before he became my _avtoritet_. It only made sense when the position needed filling to choose Dmitri and he has never disappointed.” 

“Wow. So that was… nine years ago?” Clint asked, doing the mental math. James nodded. “How did he catch your attention?” 

James had noticed that in the beginning Clint shied away from his profession and asking anything that might lead the conversation in that direction but that was no longer the case. Today he was finally asking the questions he seemed to have had on his mind for a while. James wondered what brought it on. 

“As I said, he’s loyal, and a very quick learner. He found solutions to problems he encountered on errands faster than men five years his senior. So I took him under my wing. Began training him personally and when the position opened, he was more than ready.” 

“What did the training entail?” Clint asked, wiping burger grease away from his mouth with a serviette. James was incredibly talkative today and Clint was on a mission so the two things coming together like that were perfect. Unfortunately, though, the more questions he asked, the more he had so some had to be put aside for another time. 

“How the more private and delicate matters of the business are carried out, for example,” James began, content to answer Clint who watched James with an interest so pure it made him smile. “I taught him to fight.” 

“To fight!” Clint exclaimed, leaning back. “I don’t know why that’s a shock. I mean of course you must know how to fight and Meech too I just…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish his thought without making even more of a fool of himself. He looked at James, trying to think of something to say but momentarily distracted by James’, well, face. It was truly unfair just how attractive he was in addition to everything else—rich, powerful, feared, a damn good cook _and_ handsome? _Unfair_. 

James sipped his coffee, watching Clint and wishing he could read his mind. “I learned martial arts and boxing as a child, along with a few other skills. My parents wanted me to be able to protect myself.” 

“I guess with everything going on in Russia when they left, it would make sense that they’d want you to be able to defend yourself. Not to mention everything going on over here.” 

James nodded, humming in agreement, that was exactly it on top of the fact that James would be growing up in a culture his parents knew almost nothing about, so they wanted to be sure that if they couldn’t protect him, he could do the job himself. 

“Exactly.” 

“That’s pretty neat,” he said, eating a fry and then he stopped and offered one to James, seeing as he hadn’t touched his food yet. Clint was only a little bit offended at that because, on the one hand, it meant Clint could have two burgers but on the other it meant James either thought the food was beneath him or he didn’t trust Clint. “Fry?” 

“No, thank you. I had a large breakfast.” It was not a lie but it also was not the whole truth. James would tell him if he asked but he had never been a fan of giving away more information than was strictly necessary. “Eat. I’m fine.” 

Clint watched him a second longer and then popped the offered fry into his own mouth and slowly finished the portion, cleaning his fingers on a napkin James had given him. 

James got up to pour himself some more coffee. Sleeping in always made him feel groggy and lethargic as contradicting as it sounded. He was a creature of habit. Not so much as Steve who needed his 5am workout like he needed air, but he was accustomed to waking early and starting his day. Sleeping in, while enjoyable for the moment, always left him feeling heavy. 

He brought over a cup for himself and one for Clint, sitting the cream on the table and some sugar. Clint thanked him and poured at least half the bag of sugar in before added a few drops of milk. James watched with an amused look. 

“You take your sugar with a little coffee?” he asked. 

“So I like things sweet. Whatcha gonna do, stab me?” he answered without thinking. Clint did a lot of that. Not thinking. It was becoming a real liability. 

James raised a single eyebrow and let out a soft chuckle. “I haven’t ruled it out.” 

Clint, definitely not expecting another tease, laughed. It was as unexpected as James’ words and he found himself grinning. 

It sounded so natural. Clint wondered if this was how James was with his close friends. But… did James even _have_ close friends? Maybe this was a side of him no one but Dmitri ever saw. That thought made him the tiniest bit sad but he also felt proud that he was getting to experience it. 

James watched the fourteen different expressions run across Clint’s face in a matter of seconds and did not understand why but one thing he was slowly learning about Clint was that he was quite self-explanatory. If he did or said something weird, usually he followed it with the ‘why.’ 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you crack a joke before,” Clint said. 

“Well, you’ve known me all of two weeks and seen me three times,” James answered simply. “Four now.” 

“Huh. Guess they were wrong.” 

“Who?” James asked, so very confused so very suddenly. Clint had that kind of effect on people. 

“Whoever said third time’s the charm. It’s fourth.” James chuckled but Clint was already moving on to his next question. “Why is it just you here? You prefer it that way?” 

James kept his eyes focused on his coffee, tilting the cup in his hands and watching the dark liquid move from one side to the other. “Yes.” 

Clint nodded. James had a knack for answering with one word and that rarely did anything to satisfy Clint’s need to know so Clint had a knack for asking until he got what he wanted. “Why?” 

Air blew out of James’ nose at the bluntness, his eyes flickering up to meet Clint’s, which were watching him intently. Instead of answering directly, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, deciding to tell Clint a story. 

“Before Dmitri,” he began, his eyes still focused on Clint who, to his credit, maintained the contact, “a man named Grigory was my _avtoritet_ and worked closely with me. He did everything Dmitri does now, including eating dinner with me. I find it is a good time to discuss the day as well as what the next will bring.” 

“One evening, as he and I were sitting down to eat, I told him to go ahead and begin without me,” James continued. “I wanted to get us a bottle of wine.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, formulating his next sentence, wondering how much of the story was really necessary. 

“When I came back, Grigory was face down in his plate, dead. As you can imagine, I… fired the chef shortly thereafter.” ‘Fired’ was a term he was using loosely here. If he had fired the man, that would have been lenient punishment and also the man might still be alive. “The soup was poisoned. Cyanide, as I later found out during my… questioning of the chef.” 

“So you’re scared it might happen again?” 

“I am not _scared_ ,” he said, almost offended at the assumption. Few things _scared_ James. There was a fine line between scared and cautious and James definitely fell on the cautious side. “And it _would_ happen again. It was not an isolated event. I just happen to have a preference when it comes to being poisoned or not.”

Clint wondered absently how many attempts there had been on James’ life. He didn’t know _a lot_ about him and what he did know, he wasn’t sure how much was rumor and how much was fact. He knew what Dmitri told him and he knew the little James had shared today and the last few times they had met. 

“Ask your questions,” James said calmly, slowly tracing his finger along the rim of his cup, watching Clint think. He had been watching his face long enough to know when an answer James gave led to more questions, which was _all the time._ He saw the little line that appeared between Clint’s eyebrows and the way he chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“That’s why you didn’t eat the burger or drink the beer?” 

James nodded. It was not his intent to upset Clint but he also had no intention to lie to him. “Dmitri trusts you. Don’t be offended that I need more time.” 

“I’m not.” He wasn’t. He could understand. James wasn’t in a kind of business that really bred trust and good relations. Everything was dog eat dog, or, in his case, dog stab dog. If Clint were James, he wouldn’t be very trusting either. Hell, Clint as Clint was not a very trusting man, that’s why he was trying to subtly interrogate James now. “How many times? Has someone tried, I mean?” 

“I don’t keep count.” 

“Always your own people?” 

James shook his head. “Despite recent history trying to prove otherwise, most of my men are not the type for coup d’état or mutiny. My chef was Italian, the few other times have been various other nationalities, usually from rival groups and two or three times from fellow Russians,” he answered. James knew the loyalty he received from most of his men was out of fear but he didn’t care. Any loyalty was better than none and the only person whose loyalty truly mattered was Dmitri and that was certainly not based on fear. 

“So Grigory’s death was the straw that broke the camel’s back, huh?” 

James’ narrowed his eyes; he constantly thrown by Clint’s casual phrasing. “Yes. He and I were very close.” 

“Like you and Meech.” 

James’ lips twitched into a smile that Clint caught. “Yes, like myself and Dmitri.” 

“So, if I may ask, what happened to your family?” 

James looked away briefly before answering and Clint was about to apologize again when James slowly began to explain the story of their trip to Russia. Clint nodded where appropriate but mostly just listened, knowing this was not a time to interrupt. 

“How old were you?” 

“Twenty-two. It was right after Grigory’s death.” James was thirty-one now. Grigory had been poisoned just a few months shy of James’ twenty-second birthday and a few months past it his family was killed and James had no doubt in his mind that the two were connected. He would never know for sure but it was just too obvious to be a coincidence. He constantly carried around with him the guilt that it was _because_ of him; that they had died, that it was an attempt on _his_ life that resulted in his family’s death. Why else would anyone ambush an otherwise random car? 

Clint hummed, storing the information. “I’ve asked you somewhere around four hundred questions, I’m sure. I realize I’m not nearly as interesting as the folks you’re usually with but you’re welcome to return the favor,” Clint told him, taking one of the sweets James had put out on the table. The babushka he was friendly with delivered them personally—or Dmitri picked them up—and apart from her, the only other people James let prepare food for him were Dmitri and anyone in the Rogers’ household. 

“How did you and Natalia meet?” 

Clint grinned, remembering that day like it was yesterday. “She beat me in a back alley drinking contest for five bucks.” 

James stared at him and then he chuckled and that turned into a full blown laugh, his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching up. His smile—his _real_ smile, Clint thought—was beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. As was pretty much all of James, if Clint was being honest, but this? Clint’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to make that happen again. He wanted to see that smile. 

James wiped at his eye. “Really?” 

“Scout’s honor,” Clint said, doing a two-fingered salute and then full-fingered salute and then he frowned. “I was never a scout, I don’t know what they do but I’m telling the truth. She’s a little conwoman. Though who am I to talk, I was a conman at the time but she really pulled the wool over my eyes.” 

“Why would you ever challenge a Russian to a drinking contest?” 

“First of all, Natalia, who at the time was going by Natalie, does a damn good American accent. Thought it was easy money until I woke up with her standing over me holding my five bucks and grinning like she’d won lottery. She said I was ‘impressive for a fat-headed Yank.’ We’ve been thick as thieves ever since,” he told him with a dreamy-tone that made James chuckle again. 

Nothing about Clint Barton was predictable, not even, it seemed, the people in his life and James was enjoying it very much. Clint was a welcome contrast to James’ usual crowd and routine. The normally stoic, silent unless spoken to men who surrounded James quickly became boring to have around but Clint? Clint Barton was that first sip of water you took after a long, busy day when you didn’t even realize you were dehydrated in the first place. He was surprisingly refreshing and James found he was genuinely happy Clint had decided to stop by. 

“We got married right before I was conscripted,” Clint said despite not having been asked a question and James looked up from his coffee to show he was listening, a remnant of a smile still on his face from Clint’s last story. A smile that quickly faded. “My folks passed too. Polio, you know? A few summers before. My brother… he just up and disappeared. Haven’t seen him in nearly a decade. Natalia’s family has always been distant, except for Dmitri, of course. If anything happened to me, I just wanted to be sure there was someone somewhere that they could send my tags home to. Someone who would remember me and maybe even care I was gone.” 

Clint was staring down at the biscuit in his hand, turning it over and over between his fingers. He didn’t like to talk about his family or why he and Nat were married beyond the obvious ‘I’m gay, she’s gay’ thing. 

“Natalia didn’t seem to mind and being how we are and all, it made life easy and made nosy folks less suspicious of any foul play.” 

He looked up at James who was still watching him with that same cool, steady gaze but there was a slight change to it that Clint couldn’t put his finger on. “I was sent home in ‘43 after being too close to an exploded bomb.” He reached up and tapped his ear with two fingers. 

James listened intently. If Clint was going to give such sensitive information, James was going to make sure he was paying attention and that Clint knew he was being listened to. 

“They kept me in the infirmary a few weeks first to see if it would come back but it’s been six years now and I get the funny feeling it might be permanent.” Clint smiled as he spoke.

There was almost always at least the tiniest trace of a smile whenever he was talking, like he was about to tell a joke or had just finished one. With his previous stories, James thought it added a certain charm to him, made you even more likely to listen carefully lest you miss the joke. Now as he spoke about something so dismal, and yet the partial smile remained, James found it gave Clint depth. That smile carried so much more weight than any frown could. His kind eyes and cheerful disposition were not all there was to him. Not that James had ever thought so but now he was sure of it. There were layers to Clint Barton and he was very careful about which ones he let you see. 

James made a mental note of that and his respect for Clint grew. He admired people so controlled. Even more than that, he admired people who could go through various hardships and still come out of it with the ability to be so light hearted even more. Steve and Tony had not lived easy lives and while they had survived and never given in, they had both lost a little of that lightness that Clint seemed to so easily enjoy. Hell, James had lost almost all of his apart from when he found himself in a situation he knew surrounded by people he trusted. 

Clint Barton was a rare type of person and James intended to find out just how rare he was. 

He also felt the strange desire to want to help him. “You know they have a less… inconvenient version of the hearing aid now?” 

Clint snorted. He tossed the biscuit he had been holding into his mouth and chewed as he answered. “Well aware but unfortunately they’re not givin’ ‘em away for free.” He picked up another biscuit. 

“How much?” 

“Seventy-five,” Clint said with a small shake of his head. There was a lot that he could gripe about in connection with his service time and his treatment by the government since he’d been back, the skyrocketing prices of hearing aids being just one of them, but he tried not to focus on it. There was too much in life to be bitter about so if he was going to be bitter over one thing, he might as well commit and be bitter over everything. Instead, he decided to ignore them all. 

James nodded and took out his wallet from his robe pocket, removing one hundred dollars and sliding it towards Clint. “Here,” he said without a second thought, without realizing that this would make Clint’s mouth drop open in shock. Because this? This was not a lot of money for James. James had never been anything but well off so mob boss or not, it did not immediately occur to him what kind of reaction he would get. 

“Do you always have this kind of dough just laying around burnin’ a hole in your pocket?” Clint laughed, staring at it like it had just spoken to him. On the far other end of the spectrum, never had Clint pulled that much money out of his pocket all in one go. He paid for his bar in installments, the car was free; if he paid that much for rent he would just die. On the spot. Like fall down dead. So no, having a hundred dollars right there for him to touch and possibly even _take_ was not a crazy dream he often let himself have. 

“Yes. I do.” He wondered if Clint thought he was just showing off that he could afford it. Or maybe Clint was similar to how Steve used to be and didn’t appreciate handouts. “Consider it my way of showing my appreciation for the food and the company.” 

Clint had half a mind to point out that James did not even eat the food but there was a more dominant thought in his mind at the moment and Clint almost choked on his sip of coffee. “ _What_? You’re _giving_ this to me?” _A_ _hundred fucking dollars!_

James raised an eyebrow, calm as ever and apparently not bluffing. “That was my intention, yes.” 

“Mr Roman—James,” he corrected when James gave him a look, “I couldn’t. That’s… that’s a _lot_ of money.” 

“Well aware,” he said with a smirk, repeating Clint. Although it most definitely was not a lot of money to James. 

A part of him also realized that Clint likely sought out a friendship with him for this very reason. Sure Clint was a good guy but everyone was looking out for themselves too, right? How else did one survive in life? 

Clint pushed the money back towards James and James stared down at it and then up at Clint. “You don’t want it?” 

Clint gave James a tight smile, his eyes suddenly looking colder, his body language less open as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want your money.” 

“Oh,” James said, leaning back and closing off as well as he misunderstood Clint’s meaning. “Because of how I got it?” 

James could understand that. He did not agree with it but he could understand it. Not all of his money came from his business, some was money he kept saved from his parents. Even so, Clint didn’t know that and probably assumed that any money James could give him would be blood money. Even though he could understand, it still irritated him. Why should Clint bother with him at all if he was going to react so harshly to James’ lifestyle choices. 

“Wait. What?” Clint put his coffee down, his hand gestures going wild as he tried to quickly assure James that that wasn’t what he meant. “No! I don’t much care if you inherited it, earned it or stole it off some old lady, I’m just… that’s not why I came over, is all. It’s not—I might’ve said I was a conman but that’s not what _this_ is,” he explained, gesturing between himself and James. 

“What _is_ this then?” 

Clint shrugged. “Friendship? The very beginnings at least of what could become friendship,” he answered, backtracking just in case James did not have the same view towards whatever it was they had going on. Clint did want to understand James’ ulterior motive for meeting them but more than that, he really _did_ find the man to be fascinating in a way that Clint did not often come across. Natalia was the only other person he knew with the ability to say nothing and yet leave you with a million questions. 

James nodded slowly, pushing the money towards him again and patting it twice. “Good, that’s what I thought. Now take the damn money and buy the damn hearing aids.” James had not made a new friend in years but at the same time, the thought of making Clint his friend was equal parts intriguing and pleasant. 

Clint looked at the money for a long moment and then reached out to take it, slowly pocketing it and raising his eyes to meet James’ again, looking very unsure. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” 

“Hey, it’s only seventy-five for the hearing aid so do you want the change ba—no? Okay, nevermind. Thanks again.” 

  
  


He and Clint went to the living room after putting the dishes away. James made them a quick and easy dinner—a meat stew he had leftover from the night before. Dmitri would come later as he had business to attend to. 

James did have a cleaner who came once a week and Dmitri always made sure he was here to keep an eye on her in case any of James’ enemies got to her and convinced her to do anything other than her job, but James had always found something therapeutic about washing dishes and Clint didn’t seem to mind drying up. 

They chatted idly as they did, as they had the rest of the afternoon. Clint had answered some more of James’ questions. They were mostly about living life as a partially deaf man versus life before (“It’s not easy, but I have learned to appreciate being able to turn the noise of the world off whenever I want to”), why Clint had enlisted (“Same reason most people do anything—sense of purpose”) and what, if any, his main skill had been (“I was a sharpshooter. My one brag-worthy skill? My aim. I don’t miss.”) That last one James wanted to put to the test one of the next times Clint came over but he did not feel like going down to the basement today. 

And then he realized what he had said. Or, thought, rather. Next time. The _next_ time Clint came over. And not even the next time _they all_ came over. Just Clint. Not only did he expect this to happen again, James _wanted_ it to happen again. He wanted to spend time with Clint again and Clint alone. 

He was so _easy_ to be around! There was no superficiality with Clint, no need for pretenses, and definitely no status quo to maintain. James could be whoever he wanted to be and that also included being himself. He was not relaxed. Not in the traditional sense of the word, but he was a hell of a lot less tense and reserved than he had been the last few weeks. It was nice. 

Clint sat down on the comfortable, spacious couch, sprawling out and laying a hand on his stomach that was full to the point of bursting. He had managed three bowls of stew in the time James had eaten one and a half. His excuse, when he caught James watching him in an unconcealed mixture of awe and worry, was ‘I’m a growing boy’, which made James laugh because Clint was almost six-foot-one. 

James went over to his liquor cabinet and took out the bottle of vodka Dmitri had brought—the one gifted to him by Natalia actually—and poured himself some. 

“A digestif?” He asked Clint although vodka straight was not exactly a digestif. 

“Yes, please. Brandy if you have it.” 

James took out his best bottle and poured it, looking over at Clint again, who was watching him, and asking if he wanted ice. Clint nodded and he dropped in two ice cubes and brought it over to him.

“Thank you,” Clint said, their fingers brushing when he took the glass from him and if Clint’s pulse sped up and his hands felt clammy, well, he was planning to keep it to himself. James gave him a nod and took a seat on the couch opposite. 

Clint sat up so he wouldn’t spill what he was sure was a very expensive brandy on his suit or anywhere else for that matter and he looked around the room. 

To the paintings on the walls and books lining the other. The larger than life liquor cabinet and the furniture so comfortable Clint was determined to sit on each and every piece at some point. 

Finally his eyes fell on the large grand piano behind him and he jerked a thumb back towards it. “Would you play?” 

“Pardon?” James asked, somewhere else in his thoughts and Clint asked a second time.

James put his glass down and stood, going over to the piano and raising the cover. He sat down and turned to look at Clint, motioning for him to come over and he did, plopping down beside him on the small piano bench. 

“What would you like to hear?” James reached over to the table that sat beside it and pulled out a book with sheet music, flipping through. He hesitated when he saw Moonlight Sonata, remembering when he’d taught it to Steve, and kept flicking through. 

“Play something that reminds you of a happy memory.” 

James may have come a lot of money, he may have always lived comfortably in a literal sense, but just from the little bit Clint had learned about him tonight, from the theories he had about him and from the expressions he caught on James’ face when he thought no one was looking, he knew James’ life was by no means easy or pleasant. He also knew James was not currently in a good place. He didn’t know why but he had at least managed to work that out and now he wanted to know what happiness sounded like to James, what it was. How long ago he felt it. 

James thought about his request for a moment, then lifted his hands onto the ivory keys and started playing. His fingers moved effortlessly, never faltering. He often played as a way to put his mind at ease but it had been a while since he played this piece. 

His eyes were closing as he got more into it, remembering himself playing it as a young boy while his mother and sister danced around the living room, his father usually on the couch smoking and reading the paper, pretending not look up at them but sneaking glances over at his family with a smile on his face. 

James did not play the entire piece but he kept playing until Clint spoke. 

“That’s beautiful. Who is it?” 

“Chopin.” 

“What’s it remind you of?”

“I used to play it while my mother and sister danced over there in front of that window,” he said with a soft sigh, indicating with his chin as his fingers travelled up the keys to do a quick trill and come back down to rejoin his left hand near middle c. 

James played on but slowly let the song fade, moving his hands away from the keys gently and letting the last notes ring out in the suddenly heavy silence. He turned to Clint, only just realizing how closely they were sat to one another. Their noses almost brushed when James turned and Clint only moved back after a moment of being in his space, though he didn’t leave the bench or break eye contact. 

Clint’s heart was beating loudly in his chest and he could feel it in his ears that were growing hotter by the second. His palms, rested on his thighs, were sweating and he did his best to subtly wipe them on his trousers as he swallowed. James’ gaze was unwavering, his expression blank but Clint caught the quick flash of emotion that crossed his face—confusion?—before it went back to blank. 

Clint felt like those cool, grey eyes were holding him in place, keeping him from looking away or moving off the small bench they were still sharing. James inhaled deeply and Clint subconsciously leaned forward by a few millimeters, not enough for them to be touching but noticeable since they were already so close. James allowed himself a moment of indulgence, his eyes falling to Clint’s lips and Clint ran his tongue over them. 

James’ eyes came back up to meet Clint’s at the same time that they heard the front door loudly slam shut, causing them to both jump apart from each other. Clint immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, staring intently at the pedals of the piano and before he could look back up, James stood, straightened his shirt, and headed for the door to the living room to greet Dmitri. 

Dmitri came around the corner loosening his tie and grumbling something about never being able to get those stains out. He stopped when he was almost to the living room, just realizing he had passed an unfamiliar coat hanging in the entranceway. 

“ _Winter?”_ He called tentatively, his steps quieter now, more cautious. 

“ _Yes, in the living room. With Clint.”_

Dmitri’s eyebrows raised and he headed quickly for the room, coming around the corner, his eyes immediately locating Clint and taking in the atmosphere. He was at the piano, there were two glasses with alcohol, James looked mildly serene— 

_James looked serene_. 

“ _I am sorry, Winter. I did not know he was coming. Did he disturb_ —“ 

James lifted a hand and Dmitri stopped talking at once. “ _It’s fine. I enjoyed his company.”_

Dmitri glanced over at Clint again who gave him a shy wave like a kid who knew they had done wrong and had zero repentance. 

“ _Are you sure? I can talk to—“_

Again James interrupted him, this time with a shake of his head. “No. It was a good day, right, Clint?” 

Clint, who had begun thinking about other things already in that short space of time, looked up and smiled. “It was a fantastic day.” 

Dmitri looked between the two of them and then turned to James finally who gave him a look Dmitri couldn’t quite read. 

“Oh… alright,” Dmitri said. “I’m glad.” He would still end up doing a light interrogation of Clint for his own sanity’s sake but for now, everyone seemed happy and content to be as they were so Dmitri disappeared to the kitchen to find himself dinner and James took his seat on the couch again, picking up his glass. Clint came over and sat down as well. 

“Thank you.” 

“For?” Clint asked. 

“The visit. It really has been nice.” 

“Oh. Yeah, anytime.” James raised an eyebrow. “Well, not _anytime._ And next time I will let you know in advance but—“ 

“I appreciated the spontaneity.” 

“Oh?” James nodded. “Well, that’s my sweet spot right there. I have planned very little in my life.” James laughed, looking at Clint over his glass and trying not to read too much into whatever just happened on the piano bench. 

Clint on the other hand was overanalyzing every single heated second of it and if his results were correct, he was in trouble. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia has concerns and Clint has doubts. But mostly Clint has a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys. This chapter did not want to get written but I hope you enjoy it!

“So you mean to tell me you just… showed up. At his home,” Natalia said, trying to wrap her head around the insanity Clint engaged in sometimes and understand what in his mind told him ‘yes! This is an _excellent_ idea! Do it!’ 

“Yeah?” 

“And what would you have done if he didn’t want you there?” Despite everything, despite her apparent indifference to most things, despite her air of confidence in all situations and her unwavering poker face, the one thing Natalia cared about more than anything in the world? Clint Barton. 

She was not in love with him, that much was clear, but she loved him more than she had anyone before and his safety was incredibly important to her. She had never told him—though she was sure he knew—but the years that he spent fighting were some of her worst and given the situation she was in that led to her challenging Clint to a back alley drinking contest, that was really saying something. 

Natalia was all Clint had and, sure, Dmitri was her cousin but he did not know her how Clint did. Clint was all she had as well. Or at least, all that truly mattered. If she ever lost Clint, she was not exactly sure what she would do. She knew she would be capable of moving on, providing for herself—she was paying half the rent as it was anyway—but still. 

When he didn’t answer right away, she reached a hand over to rest on top of his and she squeezed it. They were both sitting on his bed, showered and ready to sleep. Natalia was reading a book and had decided to come sit in Clint’s room with him while he looked over the finance reports for his bar. 

He turned to her and gave her a soft smile. “I’m being careful. James seems like a decent man underneath that rough, absolutely unreadable exterior,” he told her but she didn’t smile. 

She squeezed his hand tighter, her eyebrows pulling together and the corners of her mouth tugging down, visibly showing Clint her worry which sobered him up and he waited to hear what she had to say. “Clint,” she said quietly, her deep voice firm, “I don’t know what James has in mind for either of us. He just might be a good man but there’s a very good chance that he is _not_ and that he’s deceiving you so that you think he is. I don’t know why he would but from what I know of him, he enjoys hurting people. Just be careful. Please.” 

Clint nodded, his expression as somber as Natalia’s. He would be more careful if it worried her this much. “I promise.” 

She loosened her grip on his hand but did not let go. “And if I’m wrong, I’ll buy you a drink.” 

“I own a bar.” 

“Great, then if I’m wrong, you can buy you a drink,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. She threw back the covers, put her book on the nightstand and laid down beside him, her back to him. 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Sleeping in here tonight?” 

“This apartment is freezing. I’m just using you for body heat. Don’t get any ideas.” 

“Ideas?” He asked, grinning. “Like what?” 

“Any crazy ideas like me liking you or enjoying your company.” Clint chuckled and Nat turned and looked up at him. “I do love you, you know.” 

“I know, Nat. I love you too.” She smiled. She was not exposed to a lot of affection growing up and while she did not crave it as some people did, she appreciated it and loved it from the people—in this case, _person—_ whom she also loved. 

“Good. Turn out the light. I want to sleep.” Clint laughed but did as he was told, too tired to really make any sense of the numbers at the moment anyway. He slid down underneath the covers beside her and she cuddled up to him, her forehead on his chest. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Goodnight, Nat.” 

She hummed in response and wished him goodnight in Russian. 

  
  


Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about Natalia’s warning. He knew that if anyone knew anything about James, it would be Natalia. She was well-connected, the most intelligent person Clint knew and hands down the best at reading people. To this day, Natalia was undefeated at poker. 

But he also knew what he himself had observed. If he and Natalia were always together when James was present, he would take her at her word and not bother rethinking anything now but that wasn’t the case. Clint had spent far more time with James than she had and he had been able to observe him up close and in a more relaxed setting and he seemed… _normal_. As normal as any highly skilled, deadly Russian mob boss could be. 

Granted, Clint’s judgement was a little skewed and he knew it. He also knew that if Natalia knew she would immediately make him limit his time with James to zero minutes without her present. Clint’s bias wasn’t due to him having a soft spot for mobsters, rather because he had a crush on one mobster in particular. 

He sighed and then startled when he was suddenly being addressed. 

“Your groceries, sir!” The bagger barked at him, handing him his paper bag of goodies that he had just picked up from the grocery market. Clint came back to the present and got out of his head, thanking the young man and heading outside into the cold. He cradled the groceries in one arm and tugged his hat down with the other, carefully walking to his car and getting in. 

He sat behind the wheel, the car still not started, and he picked up his thoughts where he left off. Oh, Clint had always found James attractive—since the first moment he saw him—but now there was more to it. There were feelings. They were incredibly weak but they were there and Clint knew it. He knew it the moment he felt himself lean in and try to stop James from creating space between them on that piano bench. The moment James was able to have his full attention like that he knew he was in trouble. Only he would be fool enough to develop feelings for someone who probably knew a dozen ways to kill him with a spoon. 

He started the car and turned on the radio and let the sound of Perry Como clear his mind so he could manage the drive home in one piece. It was snowing again. Driving in the city was enough work as it was when conditions were ideal but in the snow? Clint was extra cautious. 

Later that evening, he was leaning against the bar watching people slowly file in to end their day off with a drink. Clint had lots of regulars, some regulars he liked and always welcomed back; others, regulars he wished would become nevers. 

Clint nodded to some who came in—Scott and Alex Summers, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, and a few more familiar faces—and blatantly ignored others—Grant Ward, Cain Marko, Victor Creed. He was not the kind of business owner that believed in the ‘any business is good business’ crap. Sure, he liked taking their money but normally, after those guys or others like them left, what Clint made off of them he then turned right around and spent on repairs for damages _done by them_. 

They were rowdy, rude and downright awful. He was also sure one of them was behind his clogged toilet he had gotten fixed the other day. And they were the ones who often harassed his waitstaff. 

“I can’t stand any of them,” Fitz said, standing beside him, his arms folded tightly over his chest. “I already know I’ll be cleaning up some disgusting things in their area before the night is over.” 

Clint sighed. “I know but every time I kick them out, they just come back.” 

“You should get your scary new friend to have a word with them,” Phil said, coming up beside them. 

Clint blinked. “James?” 

“Sure, if that’s his name.” Clint snorted, trying to ignore the absolutely juvenile things his stomach was doing at the mention of James. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Clint said. 

Phil and Fitz exchanged a look. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.” 

“It’s nothing, guys,” he said, clapping Phil on the shoulder and heading to the back. If they didn’t know who James was Clint would like to keep it that way for now. 

  
  


+

“This is a traditional Russian meal my mother taught me,” James explained, sitting the pot down on the table and taking off the top. He had been ever so slightly reluctant to invite Clint and Natalia for dinner again but in the end, he did. He enjoyed their company. They were an interesting pair of people and kept James on his toes. “It’s called _zharkoye,_ ” he continued, “and it’s a beef stew with potatoes.” 

When the heavy copper top was removed, the smell immediately wafted into the air and under their noses like they were in a cartoon. Clint closed his eyes, leaning forward to inhale deeply. It was that same delicious stew James had given him a couple days ago when Clint had decided to just show up at James’ home. He hadn’t shown up unexpectedly again if for no other reason than respecting his promise to Natalia to be careful. 

The smell of the soup was as mouth-watering as Clint remembered and he helped himself to a good-sized portion, which made James smile. 

James offered warm bread Dmitri had picked up from the bakery after everyone had their portion of stew. They ate in silence for a few moments, letting the hearty stew warm their insides and fill their stomachs, Natalia once again complimenting James’ cooking abilities. 

James looked around the table, Dmitri was leaning on it, tired after a long day. James had given him a number of errands today and Dmitri had been hellbent on finishing them all before the day was up. James’ day had also been long and tiring. Something about the cold apparently made people act up and try to deceive him and that was simply not something he could deal with quietly. 

James looked over at Clint who was also leaning on the table, steadily eating. It took James a moment to realize he had the new hearing aids in and he gestured to get Clint’s attention. 

“Are they better?” He asked when Clint looked up, dabbing a little stew away from the corner of his mouth with his napkin. 

“Who? What?” 

“The hearing aids,” James clarified, a small smile on his lips. 

“Oh,” he said, reaching up to touch it. It was a much simpler device. The battery pack and amplifier were in one compact part instead of two and it was lighter but worked better. It was more delicate and he could more easily fine-tune it to himself. It had arrived in the mail two days ago and Clint was enjoying every second with it. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to thank James for it but then again, he had been a little preoccupied with other thoughts about James. “Yes, it’s such an improvement. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” James said, pouring himself some more wine. 

Natalia’s eyes went to the hearing aids. She had noticed the new device but just assumed Clint had bought it for himself. She wasn’t sure what to make of this new information but she stored it for later. 

They fell back into comfortable silence, the only sound being spoons clacking against the dishes. 

Eventually it was Clint who finally broke the silence. “If I come here everyday for the rest of winter, would you make this?” he asked around a mouthful of stew and James laughed. 

“I will do my best,” James promised him, a faint smile still lingering on his lips. Clint’s ability to make James laugh still never quite failed to impress him. So few people were capable of it. They always either tried too hard or didn’t try at all, both situations leaving James more frustrated than anything else. But Clint did it so effortlessly. He was so relaxed and his humor rolled off of him so naturally like he wasn’t even trying to make him laugh, that was just the way he was. 

“Speaking of,” Clint carried on, James watching him with that same intense gaze but now it made Clint’s heart beat quickly for a reason other than mild fear, “why do they call you ‘winter’?” 

“People say he’s cold,” Dmitri answered for James who actually had no idea why he was called that. Well, no definitive answer. He had many theories but he had never cared enough to investigate it. He had liked the nickname and so he kept it. “That he’s unforgiving, dark. Someone started it and it stuck.”

Dmitri’s explanations also did not surprise James. Those answers matched his theories. He had always known the nickname was not a compliment, so he wasn’t expecting anything pleasant in Dmitri’s answer. He watched Clint and Natalia’s faces though to see what they thought of it. Natalia, as ever, kept her expression neutral and James got nothing from her. Clint, on the other hand, looked perplexed. 

“But I don’t agree with it,” Dmitri carried on and James raised a questioning eyebrow. “I think you _can_ be those things but you are not always those things.” James’ own blank expression melted into a soft smile directed Dmitri’s way and Dmitri answered it with one of his own. 

“Thank you, Dmitri,” he said. Dmitri, as James said time and time again, was incredibly loyal. That didn’t mean he was right, but he _was_ loyal. James was under no illusion that he was a good man or undeserving of that title, Winter. In fact, he prided himself on the shiver he could send down most people’s spine with nothing more than a well-directed look. It was… sweet, however, that Dmitri thought otherwise. 

“I see,” Clint said. He tapped his lips with his spoon in thought. “Why did you let the nickname stay?” 

“It’s been useful in my line of work. Wards off stupidity,” he answered and Natalia chuckled. The name ‘James’ didn’t really instill fear in people. There were too many Jameses to attach any significant connotation to it but ‘Winter’? From what Dmitri told him, hearing the name Winter immediately set people on edge. They knew who Winter was and what he did and they knew not to get on Winter’s bad side. “I also don’t _hate_ it. It’s grown on me. Better than what they call Fisk.” 

“Who?” Clint asked, picking up his wine and taking a sip. 

“Kingpin,” Natalia answered and Clint mouthed ‘oh.’ 

“Yeah, I would’ve fought that one. He’s kinda shaped like a bowling pin.” James choked on his water, wiping his mouth with his napkin and laughing. Clint, proud for having made that happen, turned to Dmitri. “So then why _do_ you call him that?”

Dmitri smiled. “I knew the nickname before I knew the reason behind it. I don’t know why but I thought it was supposed to be endearing.” 

Clint opened his mouth to say ‘right, because everyone is endeared to knife-toting mob bosses’ but he stopped himself at the very last second realizing his statement might be a little too close to the truth to get any laughs. At the very least, Clint would not actually find his joke very funny and if Natalia saw through it, he would be getting an earful once they got back home. 

James chuckled. “I did hate it until Dmitri started using it,” he admitted. And Steve. The way Steve said it made him feel powerful. “He didn’t say it with fear like most people do. He was always very… chipper when he used it, like you would any nickname.” James looked over at Dmitri to see him hiding a blush, something he had never seen on the man before but there it was. Dmitri, this intimidating six-foot man with his jet-black hair and impossibly darker eyes, with a scar cut through his eyebrow ending just above his cheekbone, was _blushing_. 

“I was _very_ young,” Dmitri defended himself, looking at Clint and Natalia. “I started working for him when I was fifteen. You would think it was a nice name too, right?” He gestured his palm out towards Clint who raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. 

“Can’t say I would, pal. I think I’d have known it was, ya know, unkind,” Clint said with an unapologetic smile. Dmitri huffed and turned to Natalia but all it took was one look from her to know she would not have thought it was a cute nickname. 

“ _Bunch of traitors,”_ Dmitri mumbled, tearing his bread roll in half and dunking it in his soup. James laughed, reaching over to pat Dmitri’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Dmitri,” James told him, “without you, I would have hated it for a much longer time.” 

Natalia cleared her throat, folded her serviette neatly, her bowl empty, and began to stand. “Gentlemen, I hope you don’t mind me leaving early but I have a date.” 

James’ eyebrows went up and Clint gave her a supportive smile that made her roll her eyes. He always got so excited when she had dates because she was so very guarded. Sometimes Clint worried she was too cautious to ever open herself up to meet anyone. 

“Who, Nat? Do I know her?” Clint asked. Natalia’s eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit and Clint understood that it was not information she was comfortable sharing with the whole group. “Eh, never mind. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll meet her one day.” Natalia gave him a smile. 

“It’s only the first date. I don’t even know if I’ll meet her again,” Natalia said, pushing the chair back in. She picked up her bowl and cutlery to take to the sink. 

“Leave it. I will take care of it,” James told her and she froze, looking over at him. “Go. Have fun.” She gave James a practiced smile that he saw through and then left the plate where it was. He ran his tongue over his teeth when she looked away. Seemed her playful teasing last time was all a show. She did not trust James _at all._

“Natalia, let me drive you. It’s cold,” Dmitri said, turning to get permission from James who nodded and then Dmitri stood and followed her to the door. 

James stood to kiss her goodbye and thank her for coming. Something about it was off and James briefly wondered what he had done to cause the change but he figured Natalia was the type of person who would eventually just tell him. 

Clint couldn’t help but notice the strained body language of James and Natalia. He knew how Natalia felt about James and now it seemed he needed to find out how James felt about Natalia. Did something happen that he missed? 

Clint walked with them to the door and he gave Natalia a hug. She pulled him in tight and whispered, “Be careful.” He nodded as he pulled back, Dmitri opening the door for them and then they were gone and Clint was again alone with James. 

He turned around to see him leaning against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest and expression impossible to read beyond mild annoyance. Clint wasn’t sure if it was the paranoia or what but James standing there, having walked in silently, raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Clint reached up and rubbed his neck, letting his posture relax as he walked back towards James, a smile on his face. 

“So dessert? Or digestif? Or, I mean, I could go if you’d prefer to be—“ 

James raised a hand and scoffed. “If I wanted to be alone, I wouldn’t have invited you here in the first place. Come,” he said, turning around and heading back towards the kitchen, “there is dessert.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Clint said, following behind and he heard, or at least was very sure he heard, James chuckle, but he couldn’t see his face to be sure. 

Even from behind, James was intimidating, Clint realized. His posture was so perfect it made Clint’s back ache just looking at it, the way he walked could only be described as a strut but not just any strut. A murderous strut. All power but very controlled, like a jaguar stalking its prey. One of the most impressive things about James that Clint kept coming back to was his size. 

He was not a large man by any means. Clint estimated his height somewhere around five-nine or five-ten. He was mostly leg with a shorter torso but his thighs… Clint was doing his best not to think dirty things about them as he watched him go over to the counter and pull out another plate for the dessert. 

When James turned around, he met Clint’s eyes which were focused intensely on him. He felt his own eyes narrow in response. Apparently Clint and Natalia were both acting strange tonight. 

He offered Clint some of the cookies from the babushka’s bakery, along with a cup of coffee. Clint accepted both and James brought everything over and sat. 

Clint promised Natalia he would be careful but as of yet, the only way he knew how to get answers out of James— _satisfying_ answers—was the direct approach. 

“Why do you do that?” Clint asked and James looked up from his coffee that he was stirring milk into, lifting one curious eyebrow. 

“Do what?” 

“Serve us. Take our coats. Invite us over.” 

James was not surprised by the question itself, only that Clint had actually asked it. He could understand where the curiosity and lack of understanding came from. 

James leaned back in his chair, raising his cup to his lips and he took a sip, watching Clint over the rim. “It’s my house. It’s what a good host does. As for the invites, well, if you do not like them, I can stop.” 

“No, no. We both appreciate it,” Clint said although that word might have been a stretch when used to describe how Natalia felt, “it’s just… you are, well, you—”

“Yes, I am.” 

“—and you could invite any number of wealthy or famous or _both_ types of people to your home but you invite _us_? Help me understand.” Clint was getting frustrated which, granted, was not his best idea of the decade—get annoyed with the man who knew more ways to kill someone than Clint could probably count—but he wanted to know, he wanted answers for all the strangeness surrounding this odd new part of his life that was James. 

“Yes, I could but I don’t want to.” He paused and then continued, “You were introduced to me by one of the most trusted people in my life. I don’t think he would put me in contact with people who want to do me harm. At least, I hope he would not.” He gave Clint a pointed look. 

“No, he did not.” 

“Then you have your answer. In my line of work, the number of people I can sit down and enjoy a meal with, without worrying about my immediate wellbeing, can be counted on one hand,” James explained. “Sometimes, believe it or not, it can be quite pleasant to not worry about dying.” Clint chuckled and James smiled. “Does that answer your question?” 

“Yeah, it does.” 

“Any more?” 

Clint laughed. “If _you_ can believe it, at the moment, no.” 

James raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Well, in that case. _I_ have one.” 

  
  


James stood a few steps behind Clint, his hands on his hips as he watched him, examining his form, looking for mistakes and possibly, if he was as good as he said he was, ways James himself could improve or things he could imitate. 

Clint took in a deep breath and threw the knife. It landed off center but still quite close. Clint turned when he heard a noise he thought might be laughter come from James. 

“It’s been a few years,” Clint defended himself. “And I’m not used to knives. Just guns. It’s different.” 

“Knives are more precise. Require more control,” James said and Clint made a face at that, not quite agreeing. 

Ever since Clint’s comment about being a sharpshooter, James had wondered just how sharp his shooting actually was. Now that the two of them were left to their own devices, he figured it was as good a time as any to find out. Plus James had the perfect place to practice right downstairs. 

“You don’t agree?” 

“Guns are precise.” 

“Guns are messy. There are so many factors out of your control to consider with guns. So much can influence your shot. With knives? Apart from wind speed and direction, _if_ you are throwing them, then the only factors are the knife and yourself. And if it’s close range, then you become the only factor.” 

He walked over to stand beside Clint who was in his shirt and suspenders now, having removed his sweater and tie. 

James picked up one of the knives laid out on the table in front of Clint and weighed it in his hand slowly and then, with a speed Clint almost didn’t register, James threw the knife and it landed dead center on the target. 

“A knife will never jam or run out of ammunition,” he said, passing behind Clint whose breathing hitched. “It is reliable.” He stopped when he was directly behind Clint, reaching his hand around to press his palm flat to Clint’s stomach. He was surprised to feel how toned it was even after such a huge meal. “Tighten your core,” he instructed him. 

James felt the muscles tense under his hand and swallowed dryly, clearing his head of thoughts he did not need at the moment. However, he did now understand why Steve had enjoyed teaching Tony to shoot so much. 

His other hand slid up Clint’s back and pressed between his shoulder blades. “Not tense but controlled. There’s a fine line between the two.” 

Clint rolled his shoulders and repositioned himself, having a hard time focusing on what James was saying when his senses were being overloaded. 

James was so close. He could feel the warmth coming from his body, his hand on his stomach was on fire and the one that had just moved away from his back left a fiery patch in its wake. He could smell whatever cologne James used mixed with something entirely just James. Clint wanted more touch but he wasn’t insane; he knew he would just have to be content with whatever was given because asking was out of the question. 

“Exhale as you throw,” James said, his hand still flat on Clint’s stomach, speaking right beside his ear. Clint was mildly impressed with himself that he didn’t shiver. 

Clint felt his breath come out shaky and wanted to curse. Did James honestly not know what he was doing to him? Did he not know how attractive he was and how incredibly sexually tense this entire moment was? _Because Clint sure as hell knew all those things and he was about to lose his shit._

Clint did as he was told and threw the knife, it sailed through the air and landed spot on. 

“Good,” James said, and something in Clint’s stomach did a flip. He threw again and again James commended him. 

“Can I try the gun now?” 

“To prove to me you can hit the target every time?” James countered. 

“No.” A pause. “Maybe.” 

James chuckled. “If you can hit the target with a knife, I have no reason to doubt you can with a gun.” James picked up another blade, a smaller slimmer one, and threw it. It landed beside Clint’s. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Clint said, throwing another at a different target, one with more space around the bullseye. It landed dead center again. “Throwing knives.” 

“Really?” James said, having just figured Clint was a little rusty. But then again who honestly was in the habit of throwing knives other than James? He smiled a little as the thought crossed his mind. “Your talent is impressive.” 

By the time they came back upstairs, Clint’s shoulders were sore seeing as, much to James’ surprise and slight envy, Clint was ambidextrous and able to throw with the same level of skill regardless of which arm it was. James had made him do a couple throws to compare and found that it was true. There was no difference. 

There was not a lot of chatting happening downstairs, mostly discussion of techniques and preferences. Clint asked a few questions about James’ blade—a _kavkaze_ , given to him by his father—and James asked Clint about his favorite type of gun. He didn’t have one, he had never been that interested in weaponry which intrigued James. Clint liked his skill for the more random uses, not the dangerous aspect. James appreciated that. It was not a mindset he often came across and it was just so very fitting to what he already knew about Clint. 

Upstairs, James went to the kitchen to get water and Clint went to the library to find his glass. 

“Shit,” James heard Clint call out from the other room. “ _Aw_ , snow.” 

James came in a moment later carrying two glasses of water and set them down on the coffee table in front of the couches. He went over to the window where Clint was looking out and let out a low whistle. 

“I don’t think Dmitri will be coming back in that,” James said, seeing the sudden blizzard that was happening outside. Everything was white and the ground had at least a foot of snow covering it if not a little more. 

As if he knew he was being spoken about, the phone rang and James went to answer it. 

“ _Winter, I can’t—"_

 _“It’s fine. Are you somewhere warm?”_ James asked him. 

“ _Yes, I made it to Natalia and Clint’s apartment. I will stay here for the night. And Clint—"_

_“He can stay here.”_

_“You're sure?”_

_“Yes. Get some rest and hopefully I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Dmitri.”_

_“Goodnight, Winter.”_

James hung up the phone and turned to Clint. “That was Dmitri. He is staying at yours overnight.” 

“Aha,” Clint said, feeling awkward now. James watched him try to find somewhere to put his hands and then he looked out the window again, gestured towards it vaguely and then looked back at James. James raised an eyebrow, unsure what was going through his head but hoping he would just speak up soon. “I should probably go.”

“Go? Go where? Out _there_?” James laughed. “No, you'll freeze to death.” James went back over to the couch and sat down, picking up his glass of water. Clint followed, confused, and stood awkwardly by the side of the couch. James looked up at him, at Clint worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, his eyebrows pulled together. What was he thinking? 

“So then…” 

Finally James understood what he was asking. Or at least he was pretty sure he understood. “You can stay here tonight. Take one of the guest rooms. Or Dmitri’s room if you want but there are enough that that shouldn’t be necessary.” 

Clint stared down at him for a moment, not sure he really heard what James said. “I’ll stay here?” 

James opened his mouth to answer and then instead just stood and motioned for Clint to follow, leading him to the guest room directly across the hall from Dmitri’s. He opened the door into a large room. A room about the size of Clint’s entire apartment he was sure. There was a bed made for about ten people but apparently James was intending for Clint alone to sleep there. A huge wardrobe sat in the corner and James opened that to show Clint some spare clothes, sheets and towels. 

“The bathroom is down the hall, second to last door on the right. There are extra toiletries in the cabinet in there.” James watched him closely, wondering what the issue was. “Would you _like_ to leave?” 

Clint was still taking in the room, the offer, the way the sheet felt under his hand. He wasn’t even sure of what they were made. He wasn’t sure that if he asked James, he would even know what the answer meant and he certainly didn’t want to know how much James paid for them or how little that amount would mean to him. 

“I… no, I don’t. Thank you. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“You thought I would toss you out into the blizzard?” When Clint didn’t respond, James had his answer. He chewed the inside of his cheek and then turned, angling his body towards the door. “Alright. Well, have a good night. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” He left without another word and without waiting for Clint to say anything. James had not known Clint long and sure he knew his reputation proceeded him but he had hoped that Clint at least had come to the conclusion that James wished him no harm. Apparently not. 

He headed upstairs, staying focused on the floor and wondering where he had gone wrong with this whole ‘friend-making’ thing. It was harder than he remembered but then again, the last and only person he had ever really made friends with was five when they met so there wasn’t a lot to really think about there. 

James got changed and eventually into bed and as he lay there, unable to sleep for a number of reasons, he went over as many interactions with Clint as he could remember, tried to remember what was said and what he had done. The most infuriating part was he was not even sure why he cared. He didn’t understand why Clint’s comment, his expectations of James, bothered him so much. 

He rolled onto his side and huffed, staring at the books on the shelf, counting them as he tried to force his brain to shut down and sleep. 

Clint bathed, changed into a pair of sleeping clothes he found in the wardrobe and crawled into the bed. If not for the neon red sign in his head that read ‘WARNING’ that was flashing, he would have immediately fallen asleep when his head hit the pillow. 

What was that bed made of? Children’s hopes and dreams? It was so soft and comfortable. The sheets felt like silk—they probably were—and the pillow was the most satisfying piece of furniture he had come across in James’ house thus far. Clint was sore and he was tired from working in the morning and now he had bathed in a huge tub with hot water that stayed hot and dried off with towels made of angels’ tears, he was sure. All he wanted to do was sleep but his sixth sense wouldn’t let him. That thing that was telling him now that something was wrong and sleeping was the dangerous choice. 

He stayed in bed for as long as he could and then he got up and explored the room. That distraction didn’t last nearly as long as he was hoping and finally, he opened the door. It didn’t creak— _thank god_ —and he stuck his head out into the hallway, seeing nothing and no one. 

He stepped out after working up the courage and roamed the hallway for a bit, peaking into the other rooms. Apart from Dmitri’s they were mostly empty except for a bed and wardrobe. 

Dmitri’s room had a desk and potted plants. There were books on his bedside table and a glass of water he had left there too. Clint could see his shoes and his ties left out untidily and then he saw one of his guns left on the bedside table too. Clint eyed it for a minute, considered taking it, but did not in the end as he continued his self-guided tour. 

He got to the staircase and looked up to where he knew James was on the third floor. He couldn’t hear anything but he wasn’t really shocked. His hearing aids weren’t _that_ good and besides, if James was planning to jump out and stab him, Clint would probably not have heard it happening even if he had his hearing restored. 

But deep down he still thought Natalia was wrong. James was a lot of things but he was not the Winter persona. He could be, but they weren’t one and the same. James was a different person. Maybe he really was even a _good_ person. Clint wanted to believe a bad person wouldn’t buy him hearing aids, cook him meals and invite him to stay in his home. He knew it wasn’t all that far-fetched but he still was holding out hope that Natalia was wrong this time. 

He headed downstairs, moving slower than a slug because if even one step creaked, Clint was sure he would just die on the spot. What was he supposed to say if he got caught roaming and snooping in the middle of the night? ‘Oh, sorry, I just wanted a glass of milk?’ 

Finally, he made it down the steps without a single incident and he headed for the library-slash-study-slash-living room. That big huge room they spent all their time in if not in the kitchen. That room Clint loved because it had the cosy furniture—though now the bed was number one for best furniture—and the fireplace. The room where he had had that moment with James on the piano bench. 

It was dark in there. Almost no visibility except for a thin sliver of light at the back of the room where there was a slight gap in the curtains allowing moonlight to shine through. Clint went to peak out of the same window from earlier only to see that the snow had piled even higher though the storm had died down. 

He closed the curtain again and turned around, heading over to one of the bookshelves. He checked the spines of a few, reading their titles as best as he could in the dim light and then finally he pulled one off the shelf. 

_The Hobbit_ by J.R.R Tolkien. Clint made a face and turned it over to read about it. He had heard about this book. Came out a few years ago and people had been obsessed with it. It was a fantasy of sorts, he was sure. About hobbits and dwarves and dragons. It was most certainly not a book he expected to find on a shelf in James’ home. He wondered if he had read it. He opened it and read a little of the first page. 

He made it to ninety-nine year old Bilbo Baggins adopting his cousin Frodo when he froze, trying to swallow but finding he was unable to. He tried again but now he was having trouble breathing. 

Slowly Clint turned his head to the source of the noise. He heard something at the far end of the room where James’ desk was and he stared at the darkness too frightened to move towards it in order to investigate further. He squinted and then his eyes widened as James leaned forward in the chair, his face partially visible there in the sliver of moonlight but the angle turned his eyes into black holes which really did _nothing_ for the fact that Clint was already scared shitless. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” James asked calmly. 

“How long have you been there?” Clint countered, trying to keep his voice level. 

Now if Clint really knew James, he would know that he normally never answered other people’s questions before getting answers to his own. But he liked Clint. He enjoyed his company and after much thought upstairs in his bed that eventually led to him walking around his own home as well, he realized that he should be more direct with what it is he does and does not want. 

“A while. Longer than you’ve been in here,” he said, staying at the desk because he could see that Clint was terrified. 

“So is this it then?” Clint asked. 

“Come again?” 

“Is this…” Clint mimed getting his throat slit instead of answering but he still wasn’t smiling and now James really was not happy. 

“Clint,” he said firmly, “do you honestly believe my goal here is to kill you?”

Clint shuffled back and forth where he stood, unsure of what to do. No, he didn’t believe that. But he wasn’t entirely sure what to believe and he wanted answers. 

“No,” he said after a long silence. “But I don’t understand.”

“Then _ask_ ,” James snapped. James wasn't a mind reader, despite what some people may have believed. If Clint wanted to know something, he needed to ask. James had not told him to stop or even been reluctant to answer him so far, why would Clint all of a sudden stop asking? Especially with such an important question. 

“What happened?” 

“Little more specific than that,” James coaxed. 

“Why did Dmitri introduce us to you? Why do you _really_ want us around? _Me_ around?” 

James took a moment to think, to phrase his sentences, his hands on top of the desk, fully visible and clasped together. He found that tended to relax people. 

“I was in love with someone.” It took him a moment to realize he’d spoken in the past tense. Was he over Steve? No longer in love with him? Was it a slip? Or was it the truth? “He is in love with someone else.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and James are friends. Clint knows this now. James has an important meeting he's not looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read The Way You Look, which really sets the, well, everything for this fic, this chapter coincides with chapter 12 of it. In case you're curious.
> 
>   
> A/N:  
> \--- I will never leave the fic unfinished or without an update for weeks without letting you guys know. I try to post every Sunday evening New York time but I'm also a nursing student and that's not always possible. Many thanks to all of you for reading and commenting! I appreciate each and every one. :) ---

Clint and James sat in the living room talking for most of the night. Clint had a lot of questions and James answered all but two of them. The first question was who was James in love with, which he wouldn’t and couldn’t answer not only because he would simply rather Clint not know but because it was not only his secret to tell. No matter how much he liked Clint, he wasn’t about to betray Steve’s privacy to him. 

The second question was: “If he came here right now and said he loved you, would you be with him?” Clint asked. 

It was almost six in the morning. The conversation did not stay permanently on James’ tragic love life nor Clint’s worries that James was going to just abruptly kill him. Rather it bounced around from topic to topic and occasionally they both fell into silence and watched out of the open curtain as the snow fell. 

Around three James’ back was hurting and Clint was tired of leaning against the back of the couch so they moved to the couches, Clint on one, James on the other. Now, at almost seven, Clint was lying down, yawning so hard it made his eyes water but he didn’t want to sleep. This was the most he had gotten James to talk. Ever. 

James was sitting cross-legged on the other couch, a pillow in his lap and his hands were resting on top of it. If he was exhausted, Clint couldn’t tell and it almost tempted Clint to tell James about his ridiculous vampire theory. Almost. 

James ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his head. The endless list of questions Clint had shocked him. He knew there must have been more that he simply wasn’t asking but he had no idea it was an entire interrogation’s worth. 

The conversation about Steve, although incredibly vague, still left a bitter taste in his mouth and a part of him couldn’t believe he had told Clint. Another part was insanely relieved. James’ talk with Dmitri a few weeks ago had been nice but this? This was almost cathartic. 

James hummed quietly, thinking about his answer. He had no idea. He could sense that his feelings for Steve were shifting and even if Steve were to appear there right then, he wasn’t sure he would say yes. For one, what would come of Tony? And for another reason, James never liked going backwards. He was a forward motion type of person. If he and Steve were meant to be, it would have happened already. They would have never separated in the first place. Right? 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Well, it was kind of an answer. “Next question.” 

“Sorry, fresh out,” Clint said, yawning again and laying his arm across his face. His eyes were burning at this point and his muscles were incredibly sore from the knife throwing from earlier. 

“You’re welcome to head upstairs and sleep, if you want. I’ll wake you when Dmitri gets here. Or I can send him up if you’d rather,” James said, wondering if any of this had changed Clint’s perception of him. 

Clint sat up, rubbing his eyes, and he focused on James. His eyebrows pulled together and he opened his mouth to speak, closing it again and rewording. “I’m sorry,” he finally said and James’ eyebrows went up questioningly. “I don’t… I just didn’t know where I stood.” 

“But we’ve had this conversation.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

James scoffed. “You don’t remember bringing the greasy bag of burgers and showing up randomly at my door?” Understanding flashed across Clint’s face. “I asked you what this was and you said friendship.” 

“Exactly. _I_ said it.” 

“And I never contradicted you,” James stated matter-of-factly. “Which means I agreed.” Clint and James stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them saying anything and finally Clint huffed and rolled his eyes and James, surprised to see that reaction, chuckled. 

“Is it really so hard for you to be wrong?” Clint asked but there was a smile on his face. 

James pushed himself up off the couch and tied his robe. He looked over at Clint, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I wouldn’t know. It’s yet to happen.” 

Clint’s heart was beating so fast at the sight of James’ little smirk that Clint laughed and then stood to go over to the window as James left the room, letting Clint know he would shower and come back for breakfast. 

Clint needed to move around to get the sudden adrenaline rush to wear off. James was doing mean and terrible things to Clint’s body. He stared out at the snow and the soft morning light, trying to slow his pulse but his mind was determined to think about one thing and one thing alone: James. 

Somehow, he wasn’t exactly sure how but somehow, Clint had forgotten that James was even interested in men until he told his story. It was already uncommon enough—well, not _uncommon_ just hard to find out—but then to look at James and think that such a beautiful man could possibly be interested in Clint! It was such a far out, foreign concept. James looked like and was the type of man who, if Clint was going to go by the ‘norm’, should have an equally beautiful, dangerously smart woman on his arm—Natalia, for example. But as it turned out, neither of them were interested in the other. 

James was such a perfect example of a man and perhaps if Clint could find an irredeemable flaw, he might be able to get over this stupid crush but as it turned out, there were none so far. At that point, Clint wasn’t even sure if the whole ‘I’m a murdering mafia head’ thing just made James more attractive or if it just working for Clint in particular. Clint had never in his life been this attracted to someone and it was quite frankly, very inconvenient. 

Upstairs James took a longer shower than usual, using the time and the steady sound of the water to think, to focus his thoughts. 

He still couldn’t believe how much and how long he had spent talking to Clint. Nor how refreshing it had been. 

He tilted his head back in the shower and let the water pour over his face, staying like that until he needed to take a breath. He liked Clint. He was well aware that he did. More than that, he was well aware that he was beginning to like him as more than a friend and that was what was unwanted. James had already needlessly ruined one friendship with his unwanted advances, he wasn’t about to risk this one. 

Though... Clint _was_ really very beautiful. James would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about running his hands over Clint’s broad, muscle shoulders last night while teaching him to throw knives. Lying still if he said he hadn’t wondered what Clint would taste like, how he would look under James. As James trailed his nose down Clint’s throat to his chest, then his stomach then—

James cut his thoughts off, realizing how incredibly aroused he was by the very thoughts he had been trying so hard not to dwell on about Clint. He wouldn’t give in to it, knowing if he did with Clint the only thing on his mind, it would make it that much harder to keep his feelings in check and keep Clint as a friend. 

He grabbed the shower handle and turned the water all the way to the cold setting, gritting his teeth as the temperature suddenly changed and hit his warm skin, feeling like icy needles. 

Besides, with the worries about James that still seemed to linger at the back of his mind, James couldn’t imagine Clint would be all that interested in anything more than what they currently had. James was aware of his appealing physical attributes but he was under no misunderstanding that he was an easy personality to get along with and especially not to like. 

The combination of the freezing water and the self-deprecation were a great means of buzz kill and James was able to get out of the shower, dry off and head to his room to get dressed. 

In his own room, Clint was getting dressed. He had to work soon and as much as he would’ve liked to stay and talk to James, or even just stare at him, he did have a job to get back to now that the snow was manageable. 

He was going to regret staying up all night. He was thirty now, not thirteen, he couldn’t just stay up all night without there being dire consequences. He felt fine at the moment apart from his stinging eyes and mild headache but he knew that later the exhaustion would hit in full force, manifesting itself as muscle aches, the ability to fall asleep while standing and most likely a migraine. He was not looking forward to that at all but hey, it was a small price to pay for an up close and personal interview with James. 

Well. It wasn’t nearly as up close _nor_ as personal as Clint would have liked. Ideally, the up close would have been skin on skin contact and the personal would have been _very_ personal. At this point, Clint would settle for just another hug. Just something to keep him going, to feed the beast that was his crush on James so he could silence it for a few hours and focus on other matters. Like getting to work. 

He came downstairs and into the kitchen where he found James standing in front of the refrigerator. His slate grey trousers fit him nicely. They were high-waisted, as most trousers were, and showed off nicely James’ figure since he was only in a tucked in white shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower but he had styled it in a side part and when he turned… Clint should have definitely been given a warning before he found himself face-to-face with a freshly showered, rosy-cheeked, smiling James. That was just _unfair_. 

“Wow,” Clint said involuntarily, his mouth hanging open as he full on stared at James who was turned to face him now, one eyebrow up in confusion. After a moment Clint realized that he was still staring _and_ that he had said ‘wow’ out loud. He quickly began to backtrack. “I just, uh. Your fridge. It’s so… It’s so well-stocked.” 

“Uh,” James began, standing there with cheese in his hand. “Thank you?”

“Yeah,” Clint carried on, coming closer so he could keep alive this absolutely awful coverup which he should have given up already. “Look at all those… eggs. Are we going to have eggs?”

“I can certainly make eggs,” James said with a smile, watching Clint flail. Clint slowly stepped back and away, going to the coffee machine and staring at it for a moment. It looked expensive and complicated to work. Much more so than the little sad thing they had at home. 

He pointed to it, making a disgruntled sound at his failure and James turned to him, Clint’s expression exactly what a question mark would look like if it had a face. 

“Everything alright?” 

“How does this work?” 

James smirked but left his eggs for the time being to come over and help Clint sort out the coffee machine. It was a complicated device, even James knew that. He had a penchant for the latest technology and very out-there gadgets. 

“Why do you have such a complicated coffee machine?” Clint asked. Clint knew Nat’s warnings about James had set him on edge and made him paranoid. He knew it was because she was usually right about these things and he trusted her. But he also knew that there were a lot of variables she was missing this time around. Variables that Clint had and could plug into the incredibly frustration and convoluted equation that was James and the answer he was getting did not match hers. This time, Clint was going with his gut. 

James had somewhat poured out his heart to Clint throughout the night. Clint also knew that his initial theory, his initial diagnosis that had led him to insert himself so forwardly into James’ life—that James was lonely—was correct. He didn’t have many friends. Scratch that, apart from Dmitri and his mystery flame, he didn’t seem to have anyone. No matter how powerful or scary or tough he may seem, loneliness could break anyone and Clint was positive that when James said they were friends, he meant it. 

So now he felt comfortable again to ask his endless questions and he noticed that James seemed to have relaxed as well. 

“I like it. The coffee it makes is very good,” James answered simply. 

“Yeah but surely there are less complicated versions,” he countered, sipping the coffee he had made and James was right. It was delicious but that didn’t mean it wasn't overly complicated for what it was. 

“Yes, but I like this one. The way the mechanisms work and the fact that I can see the coffee being ground intrigues me,” he added. 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Oh. So you just think it’s neat?” 

“To put it simply, yes.” He stirred the eggs in the pan, adding pepper. 

“So you’re a nerd.” 

James’ hand stilled and Clint watched him from behind, a smirk on his lips. James turned, his expression blank and Clint was almost afraid he’d overstepped but if James hadn’t gotten mad and stabbed him yet, this surely wouldn’t be the reason why he finally did. 

James’ eyes narrowed. “Maybe I am. What’s it to you?” 

Clint burst out laughing. “I can’t believe _Winter_ is a nerd. Wow. A _nerd._ That just made my day. What else do you like? Do you read the paper for fun?” 

James didn’t blush but he figured if he did, this would be a moment when he would. He turned back around to finish the eggs. 

“ _Oh my god_ , everyone knows silence is a yes,” Clint teased and James felt himself smile and then laugh as he put the eggs onto their plates, carrying both to the table and Clint followed with the two mugs of hot coffee. 

They sat down just as they heard Dmitri arrive back and James was glad he left a little more food in the pan. 

“Meech, did you know your boss is a nerd?” Clint asked the moment Dmitri set foot in the kitchen. 

“Yes,” he answered immediately, exhausted from not sleeping well and the stress of driving through the city. He froze and turned to James who had stopped chewing to stare at him, both eyebrows raised. “I, uh, mean, no? Of course not.” He turned to Clint and gave him a death glare, which only made him laugh harder. 

“You think I’m a nerd?” 

“I… is there a good answer? Please tell me the best answer and then _that_ will be my answer.” 

+

James was sat at his desk going over reports and accounts that had been brought to him for his final approval. Dmitri had also brought him the updated information on the mayoral candidates who had already been dealt with and which remained. 

He had met with his _derzhatel obschaka_ —bookkeeper—to discuss how to proceed now that he had spoken with Laufeyson, which was also a mind-numbingly tedious task seeing as Nikolai, the bookkeeper, had the personality equivalent of a soggy almond. Dmitri made sure the information was neatly compiled to share with the other five mob bosses, including Steve. 

Dmitri began organizing with his _patsanov_ , the men working under him, to carry out whatever James needed. On today’s to-do list that included two counts of political blackmail, one assassination made to look like an accident, and four unexpected visits at businesses owing James his protection fee. He also handed Dmitri a large sum of money to be bet on the Dodgers’ home opener against the Boston Braves. The money was, of course, on the Dodgers. 

“Yay,” Clint said from the couch in James’ office. “Although now I really hope they win and you don’t lose that money. I know nothing about stats, I just like the Dodgers.”

“If they’re good enough for you, they’re good enough for me,” James told him, his head down as he looked for a number he needed to call. 

Clint hummed happily at that, crossing his legs and picking up the book he was reading. It was one of the many that were stocked on the shelves in James’ office where Clint had taken to spending his mornings since he mostly worked evenings and nights. 

During the last few weeks, with the night spent together in the study as the catalyst, Clint and James had grown closer. They spent quite a bit of time together but it was all still very friendly. James made sure of it. He suspected his heart was healing well but still he didn’t pursue anything with Clint because he did not want to ruin a good thing. 

No longer did James spend days on his own. No more did James have nowhere to go when he wanted out of his home. No more did he have no one to talk to. Not that he couldn’t talk to Dmitri but Dmitri was so much like a younger brother that, at times, James did not want to talk to him about how he felt. He did not always want Dmitri knowing that he was having a bad day or that he missed his family. He wanted to present himself to Dmitri as a strong role model. 

With Clint it was different. He had not seen James at his lowest; they weren’t that close yet. However, Clint picked up on things that James didn’t even realize were capable of being noticed. And Clint would ask random question after random question until James realized that all the answers came together to spell out James’ real issue. Clint was deceivingly smart and he was a great friend. As much as James might’ve wanted more, he would teach himself to be content with the miracle that was Clint’s friendship and to not push his luck.

Despite his crush and despite having suspected that James might even find him attractive, Clint did not push either. Not because he feared James or anything like that but because he knew that above all, James still needed a friend more than anything else. 

Natalia’s date had gone well and they saw less of her but she still ate with them on occasion. Clint, however, had become a near-constant and James would not have it any other way. He would unexpectedly show up at James’ home for dinner. Sometimes he would spend the night using the guest room. Clint was also not a fan of the empty home and with Natalia spending more and more time at her girlfriend’s apartment, Clint found himself at James’ more often. 

The first time he had come to James’ office was a week ago. He had asked Dmitri about where he operated mainly and Dmitri told him the place because James was not that worried about anyone attempting anything. No one dared. Plus, it was Clint after all. 

Clint had called and asked Dmitri to pick him up and bring him over on his way to work. Dmitri ran it by James as he did everything and James, of course, okayed it. Fast-forward two weeks and now Clint showed up on his own. He would come to James’ place of business and James’ men knew him and knew he was always allowed inside, no questions asked. 

James loved it. Since he had been pulling back to his usual amount of direct involvement in his organization, he was bored in his office. He spent most of his time double checking documents and plans and making phone calls and all of the boring things. Now—even if Clint wasn’t talking, even if he was just sat reading like now—he didn’t feel lonely because he wasn’t alone. Even if they were silent, he loved looking over at his couch to see him there lounging and reading, sometimes napping. He stole as many glances as he could before Clint would turn to look at him with his kind eyes and gentle smile.

“What did you do before you had my office in which to spend all your free time?” James asked, genuinely curious.

“Uh, well,” Clint said, scratching his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Most days I’d just stay home until it was time for work. Watching television or on occasions when the odd mood hit, I’d go to the gym or do some housework.” James nodded, processing this. “Why? Ready to get rid of me?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James said dismissively, his head down as he looked over a report. 

“What’s for lunch today?” Clint asked, a smile on his face now, and James looked up to see him lying down now, the book resting on his chest, and he turned his head to face James. 

James leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“I don’t know, may—”

There was a knock at the door and Dmitri came in without waiting for permission. It did not bother James. 

_“Winter, I’m so sorry. You are late. I forgot. It’s the last week of March_ ,” Dmitri added on to the end of his rushed sentence in order to clarify. 

James looked up at him slowly and shrugged. Dmitri froze. 

“ _Wait, you remembered?_ ” He felt a little cold, worrying that this had been some kind of test. 

“ _Is my presence really necessary?_ ” In all honesty, James just did not want to leave Clint. It was a good morning and he looked especially nice in his dark blue suit today. They were just about to eat lunch and the last thing he wanted to do was be forced into a room with the man he used to be in love with and a bunch of assholes. 

Dmitri’s eyes flickered to Clint who had turned around to look at him. Dmitri nodded. 

“ _You know how they can be when you don’t attend,_ ” he said, sighing. He sounded as exasperated with these grown adults unable to maintain peace for a few hours as James felt. It always was something just short of a cage fight without James in attendance. Even Steve could not keep everyone in line. 

James got up and slipped on his jacket and Dmitri was already out the door heading to start the car. 

“What’s happening? Everything okay?” Clint asked, standing now too, leaning against the back of the couch to watch James fix his hair in the mirror at the back of his office. 

“I’m late for an important meeting. Unfortunately, I won’t make it back in time for lunch. Order whatever you want. You tell Vitaly to get it for you and if he doesn’t, tell him he can tell me why he was unable to.” Clint nodded. “I’ll hurry back.” 

“Okay,” Clint said, winking at him and James laughed, feeling his heart thud loudly in his chest and then there was the tiniest fluttering of butterflies. He was almost there. He was almost done with Steve. Steve was getting out of his system once and for all and then he hoped Clint would still be patiently waiting when that day came. 

When James walked into the room, all conversation stopped. He didn’t look at any of them and went straight for his seat that Dmitri pulled out for him and then remained standing behind, his hands clasped together in front of him and his face blank. 

James ran his tongue over his teeth, keeping up his usual mask of apathy and zero-tolerance. He tried to muster up as much disdain for the other people in the room as possible—which wasn’t hard to do for most of them—so that he could keep his eyes from wandering to one person in particular. The man sitting directly to his left, staring at him. He could feel those light blue eyes on him, screaming questions at him that he had no intention of answering. 

“Start the meeting,” he told them, holding out his hand for the papers Dmitri gave him. 

Madam Gao was the first to speak and James turned to her about a minute into her explanation of how the production and sale of their signature red snake heroin, the name they had given it, was doing. 

“We’ve also started production on our white crane opium as well,” she said, a tiny smile spreading across her wrinkled face as she looked over at James whose expression did not budge in the slightest and after a moment she looked away. 

There were grunts around the table and Mr Cage spoke next, inciting a few moments of bickering between himself and Madam Gao as was usually the case since they both dealt heavily in drugs. James did not understand the need to fight when their territories were so far apart they might as well have been in different states but this was exactly the point Mr Cage made to shut her up. Besides, the Harlem gang surely made more with weapons than they did with their crack anyway. 

The first time James looked at Steve was when the Japanese boss, Bakuto, spoke. He was well-aware of Steve’s general dislike of the man and his absolute inability to conceal that dislike on his face. 

James did a lot of terrible things but he drew the line at kids. Bakuto had no such moral code and young adults to children were his target market and main import. He targeted little girls mostly, bringing them over on a pretense of a better life and then auctioning them off to the highest bidder for _whatever_ they had in mind. Once the money was exchanged, Bakuto no longer kept tabs on the children. No one at the table was particularly fond of Bakuto. 

James might have his hands dirtied with some truly terrible deeds and aspects of his own business but he had never and would never sink as low as to involve any minor. That was the point at which humanity was truly lost and you became irredeemable. _Bakuto_ was a _monster_. 

“The girls are all only too happy for a chance to experience that promise,” Bakuto said. James knew he had been talking for a moment but he only caught the tail end of his barbarous speech. James did not fear Bakuto but listening to him talk with that smile on his face made James want to take a scalding hot shower. 

Steve must have been glaring or otherwise blatantly showing Bakuto the distaste he had for him because Bakuto turned his attention to Steve and spoke: “Oh? Mr Rogers, don’t like what _I_ do for a living? Perhaps it’s time you invest in some mirrors,” Bakuto said. 

“Perhaps it’s time _you_ invest in some silence,” James snapped immediately. He might not have been able to look at Steve for extended periods of time without feeling that familiar ache—though quite dulled now, thank god—but that didn’t mean he was about to let anyone forget that Steve was his favorite person at the table. James had no issue letting others know he had favorites. There was no way he would be able to pull off equal feelings towards them all when Steve was also the _only_ person he liked at the table—Dmitri and Dugan not included since they were technically standing. 

Bakuto’s sentence dried up and died in his mouth before it could be spoken aloud and he huffed, his jaw flexing in anger, but he did manage to find some silence after all. 

James didn’t even look up at the man, feeling this would let him know just how little James cared. Instead, he kept his eyes on the reports, his fingers stopping momentarily on the one from Steve. He kept going. 

James signaled for someone else to start talking and Don Fisk began his snooze-worthy tirade about having the smallest and most scattered territory of them all after the Irish invaded and took over a bunch of his neighborhoods, which was why Stark’s deli had been on Steve’s route in the first place.

James sat back and turned his icy gaze on Fisk who swallowed audibly. James sighed, his expression patronizing. “We’re not here to listen to you bitch and moan about your inability to maintain control of your territory. What, you want me to _ask_ Rogers to give it back to you, Fisk?” 

Fisk opened his mouth but closed it again just as quickly, deciding against whatever half-baked comeback he had. James waited a second longer to see if Fisk would grow a pair and say what he had to say but that never happened—shocker—and James flipped to the next set of accounts and reports, making a hand gesture in Steve’s direction instead of addressing him and Steve began speaking. 

James nodded as he spoke, not truly hearing it. Too busy focusing on the way his voice sounded and what it did to his stupid, traitorous heart. James tried to focus on Clint and push Steve out. Put Steve in his place—as his _friend_. 

Because Clint… Clint was something else. With his infectious laugh and talent for making James laugh no matter his mood. Clint with his ill-fitting suits—James had arranged to take him shopping next week and Natalia as well if she wanted. Of course Dmitri but he already bought Dmitri’s suits when he went to get his own bespoke ones. 

Clint Barton and his insatiable appetite, his knack for falling asleep anywhere, anytime. Clint’s love of dogs and the little ten minute speech he’d given James on why they were better than cats when James had told him the idea of a pet was on his mind. James was a cat person but he would get a dog if it meant keeping Clint in his life. 

He realized he had been quiet for a moment too long and then finally he looked up at each of them in turn, not lingering longer than a second on each face and even less time on Steve’s. 

He gave a very, very brief and concise overview of the Russian activities and then went more into detail about the upcoming mayoral election, Dmitri handed out the relevant documents, and that was it. 

He never gave much information nor did he ever truly request that much from others. The others all just liked to hear themselves talk and boast about what they had. James did not like doing either. 

Once the round was finished, crosstalk began. Fisk did speak to Steve about territory and Steve dismissed him almost as quickly as he opened his mouth. Bakuto asked Mr Cage about purchasing some of his weapons and Mr Cage gave him a flat and resounding “No.” 

That almost made James smile but he was not about to make it this long just to slip up. He kept his mask up, even when he asked Gao about her heroin purity percentage and how long it took to manufacture it. She was more than happy to answer his questions, hoping for business with the Russians but James was just curious. He also thought it might be something that would be interested Clint to know. Not that he was a user, it just seemed interesting. 

“Here. A sample,” she said, pulling out a little packet with the red snake insignia on it. She held it out to James who took it and immediately handed it to Dmitri who offered his hand to his boss, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

James flipped to his final piece of paper where he’d written a few questions about things he’d recently had reported back to him by his spies or had heard and read in the news. A few suspicious murders—two of these were confirmed to have been hits by Mr Cage—a fire set to an elementary school—none had information here so James would investigate further—and some mystery drug going around by the name of Devil’s Breath _._

“Never heard of it,” Madame Gao said and James leveled her a look but knew she had no reason to lie. 

“Some new player trying to get into the big leagues. Goes by Osborne or some shit. I heard he’s behind that mess,” Mr Cage answered. James looked up at him. 

“Is that all you know?” 

“That and what it does.” James gestured for him to elaborate. “Flu-like symptoms, next the bleeding starts, then you die. I don’t know exactly how long each phase lasts.” 

James nodded. “It’s good information. I can work with that.” They all nodded back towards James. These meetings weren’t for fun, they were for order. And to show them that they could coexist civilly, without ever losing profit, _and_ be in the know about anything big the others had in place so everyone could win. Well, except Fisk and his territory. 

They had all worked tirelessly to get where they were and they weren’t about to give it up because some cocky, ignorant Johnny-come-lately was out there with his unstable drugs killing people and turning a profit. He needed to be handled. 

James leaned back, turning his head to the side and Dmitri bent down so he could whisper something to him. Dmitri nodded and went back to where he was stood before, just as silent, trying just as hard to ignore Dugan. 

It was 11:55pm when the meeting was finally over and James could have cursed at how long it took. He stood, nodded in the general direction of the table as Dmitri helped him into his coat, and left, not waiting for Steve to finish his conversation with Mr Cage. 

He knew the first thing Steve would do was try to talk to him because Steve was like that, bull-headed and determined. Steve would want to know why James ‘went to Russia’ and when he ‘came back.’ James only had an answer for one of those and he didn’t intend on giving Steve one to either. 

Dmitri didn’t drop James off at his home, instead he brought him to Clint’s bar and parked around back, using the key Clint had given them to enter from a backdoor into the supply room and they walked through to the busy and bustling establishment, behaving casually enough that they weren’t noticed by many. 

Clint was leaning against the bar in a far corner, watching the crowds while he turned a glass around and around in his hands. James could’ve easily stayed where he was just to watch Clint. He was very handsome when he was so focused and James followed his line of sight to see a group of men in the corner getting more drunk by the second while one of Clint’s waitresses attempted to clear the table so she could bring them their next round. If they so much as looked at her funny, Clint would throw them out. 

“You look like you need me to take care of someone,” James said, suddenly right beside Clint who startled, his focus broken, and he turned to James, his face breaking out into a grin. 

“Hey,” he said, his hands twitching like they wanted to grab James and pull him into his arms but of course he did no such thing for many reasons. “A few minutes earlier and you might’ve made it for lunch after all.” 

James laughed and Dmitri called over the Phil to order two shots of their most expensive vodka. It was not _Moskovskaya Osobaya_ but it would do. 

He handed James his shot and they clinked their glasses, downing the much needed alcohol. 

“Not a fun meeting, I take it,” Clint speculated. 

“What makes you say that,” Dmitri said dryly, ordering four more shots. 

James took his and downed it again, picking up the second and turning to look at Clint who was leaning towards him seemingly subconsciously, his eyes still watching the group of men in the far corner. When James turned to him, he felt his heart race again, the butterflies were more intense now and he forced them into silence. One or two kept fluttering stubbornly. 

Dmitri gave Clint a shot and James averted his gaze, pretending to watch the men as well and if they truly did get rowdy and try to destroy _anything_ in Clint’s bar, James would make sure they would deeply regret it. 

Clint held his glass up and James and Dmitri brought theirs up to clink against it. 

“What are we toasting to?” Dmitri asked. 

Clint shrugged. “To…” Clint’s eyes slid to James’ as he thought of an answer.

‘Winter’ was not accurate for who the man really was, only for who he wanted the world to see. This man beside Clint was warm. The eyes Clint was looking into weren’t the cold, hard icy blue he saw James look at so many others with. Rather they were soft and warm, a beautiful grey color in the dim light of the bar, like liquid steel. 

Clint felt his entire stomach drop, the corners of his mouth quirking up and he only just managed to stop the smile before it became goofy and giddy with infatuation. “To great company,” he finally said, smiling at each of them.

+

Finding the Osborn kid—Norman—did not prove anywhere near as difficult as James thought it might and it was boring. James would have at least appreciated a little bit of a fight or runaround but sadly, the guy’s common sense was as bad for his health as the drugs he was selling. 

Bright and early Thursday morning, two of Dmitri’s _patsanov_ —Anatoly and Nikita—brought back the report that Norman would no longer be an issue for anyone. Dmitri gathered all their information to pass on to James since he was one of the only few allowed in James’ office. Dmitri was just about to dismiss them when one of them mentioned the school fire. 

Apparently that was Osborne as well. His intentions were still unknown but Dmitri, who was relaying the information to James, assured him that his death had been nothing even remotely close to merciful or quick and that alone made James’ morning since Clint had to be at the bar early to do inventory. 

“ _And what of_ Devil’s Breath _?”_ James asked, leaning back in his chair with the coffee Dmitri had brought him. 

“ _It will die out soon enough. Osborn was synthesizing it in some makeshift lab in his home. The drugs dies with him.”_

James pondered that a moment, staring into the dark liquid in his cup. “ _Where is the lab?_ ” 

Dmitri smirked and reached out to drop a set of keys on James’ desk. “ _300 West 57th in Midtown and it's_ your _lab now.”_ James smiled, picking up the keys, and Dmitri excused himself, stopping at the door to add, “ _Clint says he will be by around noon. Would you like me to prepare any special lunch?_ ” 

James looked up and Dmitri tried to hide his smile at the excitement that crossed James’ face. “ _Yes, pick us up some sandwiches from that place you like near Rogers’.”_ James didn’t let others cook for him in his own home but he trusted Dmitri’s judgement and he knew Dmitri would watch them carefully prepare the food. 

“ _Yes, sir._ ” 

“ _Oh and Dmitri?"_

He turned. " _Yes, sir?"_

 _"Wipe that smug grin off your face before it gets stuck like that."_

Dmitri’s grin only got wider but he nodded and said “Da” as he went out again. 

“Hey, Winty,” Clint said, a huge grin on his face as he came into the office also without announcing it in any way. Dmitri was behind him with the sandwiches and James looked up, lifting an eyebrow in a very unimpressed look. 

“Winty?” 

“What? Don’t like it? I’m trying to give you a nickname of my own.” 

“What you’re doing is copyright,” Dmitri told him, going over to the little sink and counter in the office and putting the sandwiches on plates. “Just piggy-backing off another nickname.” 

“No offense, Clint, but I hate ‘Winty.’ A lot. Find something else if you really _have_ to have a nickname for me.” 

“You should really just skip the whole ‘no offense’ thing next time,” Clint said, falling down onto the couch as Dmitri brought his sandwich over and put it on the table in front of the couch and then James’ on his desk. 

James was chuckling, picking up his sandwich to take a bite, noticing the bite already taken out of it and he looked up at Dmitri with a smile. 

“Did you get yourself something?” James asked Dmitri who was heading back out.

“Yeah, I just have some things to do first,” he answered. It was still strange for James hearing Dmitri speak to him in English. James nodded, having a good idea of what those things were and Dmitri left, leaving Clint and James alone. 

“What’s he got to do?” Clint asked, happily eating his sandwich. 

“Oh, um,” James began and Clint looked up, understanding that he probably should not have asked. 

“I see. Sorry, not my business.” 

“It’s not that,” James assured him. “You know I don’t mind your questions. It’s just that… what Dmitri has to take care of might not be the best topic to talk about over food.” 

“Huh? _Oh_ ,” Clint said as he understood. Sometimes, while never forgetting who James was, he forgot about that part. The murder part. 

It seemed like it should’ve been at the forefront of his mind. It would be for most people. Most people wouldn’t be able to forget that someone in their life was routinely involved in murder, torture, both directly and indirectly, but Clint always forgot and he wasn’t sure what exactly to attribute that to. 

Was it his own forgetfulness? Or how nice James was to and around him? Or how he felt about James? Because the way he felt about James was just a few rungs short of embarrassingly infatuated. It had only gotten worse since he’d started using the new hearing aid once it was delivered to him. The ease with which he could hear was such a daily relief and every time he put it on, he was reminded of James and his total lack of hesitation to help Clint out. 

“Does it bother you a lot?” James asked and then immediately added, “I mean, often. It’s understandable that it would.” 

Clint shook his head. “No,” he told him honestly. “Most times I forget until one of you brings it up.” 

“You forget? How do you forget?” James asked, genuinely surprised. He imagined it was the main thing most people thought when it came to him. He knew his reputation, he heard the whispers, even the ones that were untrue. 

Clint shrugged. “I focus more on you than what you do, I guess.” 

He said it so nonchalantly, so easily, that it couldn’t have been a lie. James looked away, feeling his heart speed up, and he licked his lips, biting back his smile. “That’s nice to hear,” he told him, looking up again, not trying to conceal the smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update in the mayoral race. James gets a visit from a friend. Steve gets shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter lines up with events that take place in ch15 of The Way You Look.

“ _How’s Laufeyson doing?_ ” James asked, reading over the latest blackmail piece J. Jonah Jameson had posted for James. It was on a man named Remy LaBeau. If not for Loki’s astonishingly tarnished record being easier to work with, James might have chosen LaBeau to be their candidate. 

He was young, ambitious and had a sordid past that he had done well to keep covered up but Dmitri was no stranger to digging up what people would prefer to leave buried. He also had several juvenile arrests for thievery and one account of aggravated assault when he was sixteen, which had all been swept under a big thick rug made of lies that rewrote his past into that of a charming, community-centered youth growing up in New Orleans. As much as that would have been enough to swipe his votes, the chosen blackmail was his gambling addiction. Sure, Loki gambled as well but he had a winning streak like no other. Something about horses and horse races just seemed to come so naturally to him. 

LaBeau, on the other hand, was massively in debt and falling further. This little factoid would not go over well with the people of New York who, after having lived through the Depression and two world wars that left people eating rations of rations, most certainly would not want the leader of their city to be financially irresponsible. 

James finished reading Jameson’s piece and then folded his paper, looking over at Dmitri who was flipping through a folder. Dmitri looked up and said, “ _He’s doing great. I think even without our interference he would be. He’s charismatic, handsome and, well, intimidating. I think people want someone strong in charge._ ” 

James hummed in approval. “ _And Odinson_?” 

“V _oluntarily dropped out of the race after being told what we had on him,_ ” Dmitri said. Loki’s only stipulation had been to blackmail Thor, his half-brother, not kill him. When he’d next spoken to Dmitri, he had also asked that Dmitri speak directly to Thor first before posting the blackmail for the world to see. He was positive that would be enough for Thor to drop out of the race of his own accord and he had been right; Thor did not want anyone to know about his relationship with the shy scientist who also happened to be Clint and Natalia’s landlord. 

“ _Who remains_?” 

“ _We took out Stern and Pierce_ ,” Dmitri said casually, glancing at the documents that had the men’s faces on it with a large red X drawn through them. He flipped to the next. “ _Justin Hammer is still in the running but honestly, he has less than one percent of votes. If we took him out it would only be for the fun of it, he’s never going to win_.” He flipped through the next few pages. “ _Only remaining other candidates are Jonny Storm—he’s missed two debates and when he does show up he’s late, he doesn’t have public favor—Peter Quill—bona fide idiot—and Thaddeus Ross but he’s old as hell and people are tired of old white men in power. Not to mention his platform is essentially an introduction of perpetual martial law. No one wants that_.” 

James nodded along as Dmitri laid out the information, his fingers steepled together in front of his mouth and elbows on his desk. 

“ _And as for Laufeyson, he’s not particularly known for his compliance. Does he seem to be following instructions_?” James asked. 

“ _To the letter. For now. I’ve got a close watch on him. Thor, surprisingly, said he’s not to be taken at face value nor trusted as far as we can throw him,_ ” Dmitri informed him, his voice dropping an octave as he continued. “ _But he has a daughter hidden away at a boarding school upstate. Tess Black. He regularly makes generous donations to her school. I think he would be at least a little bothered to find out we know about her. He’s gone to great lengths to keep her existence and relation to him a secret_.” 

Dmitri looked over at James with a smile that James returned. “ _As always, excellent work, Dmitri_.” Dmitri stood up, handing the folder to James who slid it into his desk drawer. 

“ _Thank you, Winter_.” 

“ _Where are you off to now_?” 

“T _o check on the man who owned the dry cleaning service. See if he’s ready to pay back the loan you gave him_.” James nodded and Dmitri left. 

+

Clint was brooding, both his hands tightly clutching the steering wheel as he glared at the innocent stoplight until it turned green and he drove on. Natalia knew the difference between pouting Clint and genuinely pissed off Clint. This was pouting Clint. 

“I’m not changing my mind,” Natalia said, looking at her nail she had chipped earlier when she had grabbed the barre at the wrong angle. 

“No, _what?_ You? Not admit that you might be wrong? Who are you and what did you do with Natalia? She’s never been stubborn in her life,” Clint snarked and Natalia rolled her eyes. 

“If you’re going to behave like that, I’ll just wait until you act like a real adult and we can continue this conversation.” She looked out the window and missed the glare Clint sent her way, which was probably for the best. 

“I just don’t understand why you still don’t like him.” 

“I like him fine. I don’t trust him one bit.” 

Of course they were still discussing James. Natalia had not been around much as of late since her dates with the equally intimidating, smart, and sexy Maria Hill but she did not like what she was hearing from Clint about his time spent with James. It was too much and Clint was growing too comfortable in James’ presence for his own good. He was going to be blindsided when James decided Clint was no longer useful to him. 

“He’s my _friend_ , Nat. Stop being so goddamn Soviet about everything for two seconds and understand not everyone has ulterior motives,” he snapped and she turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing. 

How had she missed it? She was so obsessed with finding out what devious plan James had up his sleeve, that she hadn’t been paying enough attention to Clint. She was frustrated at herself for missing it, especially the last time they had all eaten dinner together. Had it been obvious? No, maybe Clint was hiding it from her and he was very good at hiding how he felt. 

“What?” He barked, tired of her looking at him like that and growing more irritated by the minute, swearing when someone cut him off and he had to slam on the breaks. 

“You like him.” 

“I just said he was my friend. I’m not sure if you think this is new information or—“ 

“No, Clint. You _like_ him. You have _feelings_ for James, don’t you?” Clint didn’t say anything, he kept his eyes focused on the road and Natalia hit his arm. “ _Durak_ ,” she snapped at him. 

“You say that often enough that I know what it means and I’m not an idiot. Not for this at least.” 

“You’re even more of an idiot if you think there’s nothing wrong here, Clint.” 

“It’s not like I’m planning to act on it.” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re compromised. You can’t see the danger in the situation because you have _feelings_ for the danger.” 

“Goddammit, Nat. This isn’t the fucking Cheka. I’m not _compromised_. So I have feelings for the guy, doesn’t mean if he comes at me with a knife I’m just gonna let him stab me.” 

“You might not even realize he’s about to. Your guard is so far down it’s on the floor.” 

“He wouldn’t anyway,” Clint said firmly, knowing James. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

“That’s probably for the best. At least one of us should keep a clear head.” 

“ _Nat_ ,” Clint snapped and she turned to face him, visibly unfazed but internally she was surprised at his tone. “I’m going with my gut on this one. You don’t have all the facts, so butt out.” 

“Clint—“ 

“No, Natalia. Leave it.” 

“Clint, he’s _killed_ people.” 

“So, what? So have I! So have _you_ for that matter.”

“It’s different and you know it. You were at war. I was trying to survive. He needlessly murders and—“ 

“Where was this self-righteous attitude when he first started inviting us over for a free meal? Hm? Or when he took us shopping? You didn’t bat a fucking eyelash and you know just as well as I do that that was probably blood money,” Clint snapped. Natalia remained calm, knowing that raising her voice would only make Clint angrier and close him off to reason even more. 

“I don’t have a problem with what James does. You know my past is riddled with more questionable choices and dark moments than most people. My—”

“So—”

“Ah, ah, ah. Let me finish,” she snapped back and he had the good sense to be quiet. “My problem is that you so blindly put your trust in the hands of someone who is in that line of work.” 

Clint let out a heavy sigh, pulling into a parking spot near their apartment. He turned to her, his face unreadable for once except for the anger lines but when he spoke, his voice was a smooth, even tone that made Nat think she had really upset him. 

“The reality of the situation is that you once again think I’m some idiot who’s thinking with his dick instead of his brain.” She opened her mouth to counter but he raised his hand and she respected his time to speak. “Yes, I like him. More than I oughtta but am I blindly trusting him? No, no I’m not. I trust him because of what I _know_ , what he’s told _me_ , and what I’ve seen _myself_. I trust him for the same reasons I trust _you_. He’s my friend.” 

Natalia stared at him for a moment longer but before she could say anything, Clint was getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. She got out and followed him inside but Clint closed his door and Natalia heard him lock it. 

She wanted to apologize. No, she still didn’t trust James. Yes, she thought Clint was putting himself in danger unnecessarily. No, she didn’t think she was wrong but she didn’t want Clint to think she thought he was stupid. She knew he wasn’t. She was just worried but her way of showing it wasn’t always the best. 

+

“I know you’re there, I just don’t really know how you got inside,” James said, sitting at his desk in the living room, his head down as he read over some documents. He slowly flipped his pen between his fingers and looked up as Natalia came around the corner into the room. 

His eyes narrowed when he spotted the knife she had partially concealed in her hand. He looked up at her face and then back to her hand. She came to stand directly in front of his desk but a good ten feet away from it and he leaned back. 

“So?” he said casually as though he had invited her for dinner. The fact that he didn’t seem even the least bit thrown was actually throwing Natalia. She was hoping for the element of surprise but that was out the window. 

“So, what?” She asked, wondering what would happen next. Perhaps a fight. 

“How did you get in? I doubt Dmitri let you in and I know I haven’t given you a key—“ 

“Is that really what you want to talk about?” 

“No, but you were taking so damn long out there in the hallway I figured you needed an opener,” he told her coolly. “This about Clint?” He went back to his documents and Natalia felt a spike of anger at how flippantly he dismissed her as a threat. 

“What do you want with him?” 

“Hm, that’s a good question,” he said, writing something at the top corner of one of the pieces of paper and crossing out a huge section below it. He pretended to scratch his leg and then leaned back again to look at her, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a lopsided smile. “I think the general plan is to befriend him, drug him, and I don’t know. Force him into slave labor, I suppose.” 

She felt anger coursing through her but James’ easy smile never faltered and that only made her angrier. 

“I know it’s hard to believe that someone like me could want anything to do with a lowly bar owner,” he said slowly, “but perhaps you need to learn to be a little more open minded. And, for the record, I don’t actually think of him that way.” He looked back down at his documents. 

“Clint is all I have. _What_ do you want with him?” she said through gritted teeth. 

James sighed, genuinely sad that it had come to this. “I want to be his friend.” _Perhaps more but I’m trying hard not to want that_ , he thought to himself. “That’s it.” He shrugged. “He makes me laugh. He’s a delight to be around. What else do you want me to say? Or are you honestly disappointed I don’t have some nefarious plan?” 

In all honesty, she was because she was so sure of it. But then again, maybe the lack of an actual threat was keeping him from telling the truth. She took a step towards him, the knife extended and he clicked his tongue and she stopped. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he told her, raising the hand with which he had scratched his knee and resting it on the desk, a gun in his hand. 

“Thought Clint said you didn’t like guns.” 

“I _prefer_ knives. Never said I don’t like guns.” And how weird was it that the thought of Clint telling Natalia about him sent butterflies around his stomach? He cocked the gun. “Definitely didn’t say I don’t know how to use one.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“No, but neither will you.” 

“You sure about that?” 

“Clint’s all you have,” he repeated. “And between you and me, he and I are friends. He won’t appreciate you trying to kill his friend.” 

“Who said anything about _trying_?” she said with a smirk. 

James chuckled and laid the gun down, pulling his hands back into his lap. “Am I going to need to ask you to leave or can we settle this like adults? I like you, Natalia. Believe it or not, you’re not the first _friend_ ,” he said, stressing the word so she would know it applied to her as well, “to hold me at knife point, so this really doesn’t change anything for me as long as we don’t have a repeat.” 

Natalia felt her eyebrows go up involuntarily. 

She lowered the knife again, incredibly confused and surprised. This _really_ wasn’t going to change _anything_? Seriously? Being held at knife point? Her sneaking into his private home and threatening him? That _really_ wasn’t hostile enough for James to consider her his enemy? Well, _damn._

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Seems to be your default setting.” She smirked but it wasn’t friendly. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to any of the furniture in front of the desk. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the floor beside him. It was in her view and he could get to it before she could, but it would still take him a moment. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

She hesitated and then leaned against one of the couches that face away from the desk, the knife still in her hand but at her side again. 

“There,” he said. “Now let’s talk.” 

+

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!” Clint nearly screamed, standing in front of Natalia who was sitting on the couch after having told Clint in detail about her impromptu house call. “And you say _I’m_ the one behaving stupidly! Nat!” 

He threw his hands up in the air, pacing in the living room and she was sure their downstairs neighbor was going to come up and complain about the stomping and yelling soon. 

She had her hands folded neatly in her lap and she watched Clint closely. She was still not a huge fan of James but they had definitely parted ways on better terms. Especially after she had gotten the piece of information she needed in order to finally have peace of mind. 

The conversation was still crystal clear in her mind: 

_“Why Clint?”_

_James had leaned back, checking his pocket watch and then glanced up at Natalia._

_“Dmitri chose you two for me,” he had reminded her. “I had no say in the matter.”_

_“Yes, but you weren’t initially interested in us.”_

_“For a sexual encounter, no.”_

_“Nor friends. Be honest.”_

_He had chuckled. She was right. He wasn’t looking for friends at the time. He just wanted to be left alone._

_“Nor friends,” he agreed. She raised an eyebrow as if telling him to continue. “But Clint kept showing up. He knew I needed a friend before I did,” he had told her honestly. For Clint’s sake he was being honest and answering her questions._

_Natalia had nodded, processing that. “And then?”_

_“I’m sure you must know better than me that once Clint Barton grows on you, there’s no removing him. There’s no_ wanting _to remove him. Things are too quiet, too mundane.” Yes, she did know exactly what he meant but was still surprised that anything about James’ life could be mundane. “But even silence with him is bearable,” he’d said quietly and she wondered if he had meant to say that out loud. “He is quite unique.”_

_And then it clicked._

The rest of the conversation had gone much smoother after that. Natalia’s heart no longer felt weighed down with worry over James’ intentions as it became more obvious the longer he spoke that he did indeed have feelings for Clint. She was also quietly reveling in the fact she had picked up on it. James was not an easy read. 

“So let me guess, you went to his house, threatened him and still don’t want me anywhere near him? Huh?” 

“Actually, no. I think it’s fine,” she said evenly, eyeing the nail she had filed and repainted to see if it matched the others. Clint stopped pacing and turned to her. 

“Well, if you think for one second that I—wait. Wait, what? Did you say it’s fine? Are you sick? Or dying? Both?” 

She sighed, looking up at him. “We had a very, very long chat.” They had spoken from early evening until early the next morning, eventually sharing a drink together in the library as the tension eased and the focus of the conversation shifted. Natalia had kept her distance on the couch; James was leaned back in his chair with his feet on his desk while they spoke, an easy smile on his face “Maybe you’re right.” 

“There’s so much to unpack in your last two sentences. For one I can’t believe you’re suddenly fine with it. Secondly, I can’t believe he even took the time to talk to you after you tried to slaughter him in his own home and thirdly, _I’m right_? Did you hear you say that?” 

“ _Maybe_ you’re right. Maybe. And slaughter is a tad hyperbolic. I was just going to slash an artery.” 

“I love how you think that’s somehow better than slaughter,” he told her dryly and she cracked a smile. “ _But_ beggars can’t be choosers, so I’ll take that maybe.” He dragged his hand down his face, cracking his neck and letting out a deep sigh. “However, I’m still incredibly angry at you.” 

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” She stood up with a grace Clint envied, like someone pulled her up onto her feet. “So, dinner?”

Clint glared after her as she headed for the kitchen and then let out another sigh, this one resigned. “Yeah but I get to choose.” 

  
  


+

“I’m sorry about Nat,” Clint said the moment he James sat down at the bar. He hadn’t been there in a while and Phil and Fitz were doing their best not to stare—which translated roughly to _they were staring but at least had the decency to stand on the other side of the room._ Clint wasn’t sure either of them knew who James was but Mack seemed to know if the way he blatantly insisted on working stock instead of coming out to wait tables or make drinks was any indication. 

James shrugged and ordered the gin rickey, Clint grabbing the ingredients to make it. “It’s in the past,” he said, taking a sip. Dmitri joined him a moment later and after one look, James made it obvious that this conversation was somewhat private and Dmitri, after raising his eyebrows in surprise, found a table a little ways away from them but where he was still able to keep an eye on James and get to him quickly just in case of anything. 

“It was literally one day ago.” 

“Which is the past, Clint. Besides, I respect her for it.” 

“You… respect her trying to kill you?” 

“Yes and no. I certainly would’ve preferred her asking to talk to me but I respect that she went through all of that to make sure you were safe. I don’t care for the methods but I respect how much she’s willing to do to ensure your safety. If I were in her shoes, I’d do the same. You know I like that quality in people.” 

“Stupidity? Death wishes?” 

“Loyalty,” James said, a smile on his lips. 

Clint mouthed the word ‘right’ and went quiet, deep in thought while James just enjoyed his drink and looked around the room. It hadn’t escaped his notice—well, maybe it had but only for a moment—that James had immediately drank something Clint made for him. He didn’t wait on Dmitri, he didn’t watch Clint’s every move, he just drank it. Just like that. He trusted Clint. 

If Clint had slightly less control over his body, he might’ve blushed and then thrown up from the way that fact made his stomach feel. That coupled with James’ words— _I’d do the same_ —were not helping Clint stay cool and aloof. 

While Clint was beating his stupid emotions down with a mental rolling pin, James took a moment to think as well. He hoped Clint had understood the significance of him taking that drink. James was not always good at expressing himself. How he felt. 

He looked away from Clint, out towards the rest of the room, a deprecating smile on his face as he thought about his description of himself. Not good at expressing his feelings was understatement of the year. He’d spent a decade holding onto genuine love, he’d be surprised if he managed to tell Clint anything other than ‘we are friends.’ James sighed, turning back around slowly to face Clint again. At one point, James met eyes with Fitz and winked. Fitz had turned a weird shade of grey and headed for the backroom. 

“So you’re not mad at her?” 

James looked up at him from his drink that he was slowly swirling. There some whispers happening in a corner that caught James’ attention seeing as there was no music playing. James looked over and the eyes all dropped away from his face. “We talked. We are fine.” 

“I keep hearing that word being thrown around. ‘Fine’. I’m starting to think it’s taken on a second meaning I don’t know about.” 

“Well,” James said, leaning forward, his hands clasped together on the bar, “I mean it exactly how it is. We’re fine. I’m not angry, I don’t think she is anymore either. Besides, maybe you forgot, but it wasn’t too long ago that _you_ also thought I was going to kill you and you didn’t even have the wits about you to go snooping with a weapon.” 

Clint instantly started sputtering, trying to think of something to say and coming up short, wanting to shave that smug, questioning eyebrow right off James’ face. “Well, you know, I, uh, I didn’t _need_ one.”

“Oh?” he asked, that infuriating eyebrow going up even further. 

“Yeah, _oh_ , mister mob. Because I, well, you know, I—”

“You weren’t expecting me to be in the library, I know.”

“No—yeah,” Clint said quickly because the truth was that he was somehow simultaneously paranoid because of Natalia but had this weird feeling that James wouldn’t hurt him and that just sounded stupid, which it very much was. 

James gave him a look but didn’t press. Instead his lifted his drink to his lips and finished it, Clint taking the glass to make him another. He didn’t ask for it but he also didn’t stop Clint. 

Clint was just happy James and Natalia were on better terms and that Natalia also wasn’t actively hating James anymore. Whatever he said seemed to have changed her mind. Clint was curious to know what it was but at the same time he mostly just wanted this portion of their friendship over and done with. 

“Well, good,” Clint said when he sat the new one down. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched James take a sip, truly enjoying the moment this time instead of missing it. 

“Does that ‘good’ mean _good_ or does it mean something else? Maybe even _bad?_ ” James teased with a smile. “You keep using it and maybe it has a secondary meaning?” 

Clint glared. “You’re an ass,” he said but there was a smile threatening to spread across his face as he whipped the towel that was over his shoulder and watched a few water drops hit James’ face. “You come up with that all on your own or did Dmitri help?” He leaned against the bar right in front of James, grinning and for what felt like a very long time, they met eyes. Clint felt his shoulders relax and his breathing pick up. James' eyes were so steady, so clear. They were a pure, perfect arctic blue in the lighting in the bar. 

Clint felt himself lean forward and James did as well. This felt like the moment at the piano bench though both of them were brought back to reality a lot sooner due to the fact that they were in a public setting and not the incredibly private living room. 

James leaned back on his stool and cleared his throat. He looked down at his lap, blinking a few times to clear his head. God, he wanted Clint. 

  
  


+

“Head of the Chinese,” Clint asked from where he sat on James’ couch. They had quickly slipped back into their usual easy way of talking to each other and now, a week later, Clint was not only _more_ comfortable in James’ presence but didn’t have to worry about what Nat would think. Especially since she and James had been getting along very well lately. 

Clint was holding James’ knife in his hand, looking it over. It really was a beautiful thing. Clint had caught a glimpse of it before but, even then, he had always imagined James’ knife to be more function over fashion—a plain, sharp blade with an equally plain handle. And while this knife would still most definitely get the job done, it was quite ornate with it’s golden intricately-designed handle and long silver blade. It was heavy but balanced, incredibly well-made. 

Clint felt it summed up James pretty well. Someone might take one look at him and assume he was nothing but rough edges and violence, that there was no depth to him and how wrong they would be. James was like the [_kavkaze_](https://www.invaluable.com/auction-lot/silver-kavkaze-russia-knife-early-1900-s-47-c-cd345d08ce) knife. He was complex and sharp. Deadly, for sure, but graceful about it. Clint had seen him draw that knife and throw it like it was a natural thing his body had always done. It almost made Clint think about the way Natalia danced. She might have seemed delicate and fragile but there was so much power in every move she made and in her petite body, so much about her lay below the surface as with James. Not to mention the fact that both the knife and James were incredibly pleasing to look at. 

“Linda Gao,” James said, leaning back in his seat, his feet up on his desk and a cigar in his mouth as he spoke. They were at his office at the hospital seeing as he had business to attend to on the abandoned fifth floor-slash-holding-cell. Not to mention the fact that Natalia had come down with something and—despite insisting that it was nothing and she would be fine to stay home—James had insisted she come to the hospital. It was clear to Clint that he really didn’t harbor any hard feelings towards her. He had even gotten her to agree to him footing the bill, which wasn’t really that much of a bill seeing as it was his hospital. “She’s somewhere between 150 and 160 years old, I believe.” 

Clint chuckled, putting the knife down to look over at James who was smiling as well. Neither of them could really say how they had gotten onto the topic but Clint had been asking about James’ business and now he was curious about what the other mob bosses were like. They had discussed Bakuto only briefly and it had included James mostly going on about what a contemptible and sorry excuse for a human he was. 

“She deals mostly in opium and a few other hard drugs. She is one of the less detestable people but I still don’t like her,” James said and Clint snorted. 

“I am genuinely surprised. You’re such a people person. You like _so_ many people I can’t believe you don’t like her,” he teased and James chuckled, flipping him off which only made Clint laugh more. 

James stood to go to the window and look out, also because the sun was shining on his back and it felt nice but it would be even nicer on his face. He was just about to close his eyes when a familiar car caught his attention. 

“So what about the Irish—”

“Wait.” Clint stopped talking. James moved closer to the window, his pulse racing as he recognized the car speeding down the street towards the hospital. He couldn’t be sure who was in it, but there wasn’t a single person in the Rogers household that he wouldn’t be devastated over. “I think something is wrong. Stay here, I’ll be back.” The cigar lay smoking on the ground where James dropped it. 

James rushed downstairs, passing Dmitri who was in Natalia’s room talking to her and he came running out to join James. 

“ _What is the matter?”_

 _“Steve’s car just pulled into the driveway.”_ James did not need to say more as they got into the elevator and made it downstairs in time for the car to screech to a halt and Dugan to come out. James couldn’t see into the windows but seeing Dugan as the driver only cranked his anxiety up to a thousand. “Who’s in there?” 

“Steve.” 

James felt faint, rocking back on his heels, but composed himself a moment later and whistled, a gurney coming out at his summons. 

Dugan opened the back door to reveal a pale, bloodied and unconscious Steve laid across the backseat. James reached in without thinking about it, bloodying his own clothes and helping to put Steve on the gurney while barking out instructions. 

The whole way upstairs, James kept checking Steve for a pulse and feeling his own stomach unknot each time he found it. He couldn’t move his eyes away from Steve. Dugan explained what happened seeing as it was only the four of them in the elevator. 

Even now, weeks later, Steve made his heart beat out of his chest, his palms sweaty, and he dominated James’ focus. He only barely stopped himself from holding Steve’s hand as they took him upstairs. 

They got him in the room and everyone cleared out but James and the doctors, Dmitri going to talk to Dugan. 

" _I’ll find whoever did this and I will destroy them,”_ James told him in his slightly broken Irish and left out, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezing as he did. 

While Steve was being examined and prepped, James came out and turned to Dugan and then to the Russians who stood just a ways behind him. 

_“Vitaly, Anatoly, Nikita, Mikhail,”_ James snapped and those men moved forward immediately. “ _You do whatever Dugan tells you to, you hear me?”_

 _“Yes, sir,”_ they responded in unison. 

James turned to Dmitri who was still watching Dugan, happy to see him though wishing for different circumstances. 

" _Let’s go,_ ” he told Dmitri, grabbing Vitaly’s arm on the way out and instructing him to let Clint know he should go be with Natalia. Vitaly nodded. 

They pulled up in front of Steve’s home and James went straight in the front door using his own key, Dmitri a step behind him the whole way. 

“Steven? Is that you, love? You’re home early, I—James?” 

James stood in the doorway for a moment and went straight for her, pulling her into a hug and she went willingly into his arms, closing her eyes and sighing. 

“Is he alive?” she asked, her voice so small and quiet it hurt James’ heart. 

“Yes. He’s at the hospital being examined. It was a single shot to the abdomen. Should be a simple procedure.” 

She pulled away to look into his eyes and search for any sign of dishonesty, of him lying to spare her and saw none as always. She put a hand on his face and tilted him down to her height to place a kiss on his cheek. She gave it a firm slap. 

“It’s been _too_ long,” she told him firmly and he simply nodded. “Alright. Let’s go get the boy. He’s at the office.” 

He followed Sarah through the house and into Steve’s office, Dmitri heading outside to have the car ready. Sarah pushed open the doors to the office and Tony looked up, his expression quickly becoming confusion when he saw her face and then something else entirely when he saw James. 

He stood and put on his jacket without either of them having to say a single thing. James wondered why that was his reaction. Did he constantly anticipate the worst? Had Steve mentioned something to him? Maybe Steve knew something like that could happen. Maybe he had known for a while. He wouldn’t put it past Steve to sit on something as serious as this and dismiss it as nothing. That was classic Steve Rogers behavior. He would ask Tony later when they came back to his home. 

  
  


“He’s in surgery,” James said once they were back at the hospital. He came to stand in front of Sarah and Tony who were sitting in the waiting area outside the doors to the surgery area. “Shot in the lower abdomen, doesn’t look fatal, the surgeons have said.” 

“There was a lot of blood,” Steve’s doctor said, joining them now and leading them to the room to which Steve had first been admitted. 

Dmitri had assigned Alexei and Vasyl, two more of his men, to stand guard at the door and they smiled at Sarah and then held the door open for all of them as they entered. 

“It’ll take some time before we get more information,” the doctor said. 

“Where are the others? Jones, Dugan—” Tony began but James cut him off only because he didn’t want to give the doctor more information than he needed. 

“Out,” he answered, turning to Tony whose eyes were huge with concern and the frustration of not knowing clear on his face. James could empathize. He _hated_ not knowing, especially about important matters like this. 

Sarah and Tony both sat down again in the large VIP room and Tony took her hand. James noted it with a small smile. Tony was strong, resilient, but a gentle soul. Steve needed that. 

A moment later, Dmitri brought in coffee and then excused himself, letting James know that he would be with Natalia and Clint if James needed him. The doctor also left after being called back in to where Steve was. 

James moved and stood next to Sarah’s chair, resting his hands on her shoulders. Tony got up and offered him his seat and James took it only because Sarah looked positively terrified. 

He sat down and she grabbed his hands, squeezing tightly, tremors running through her body and she turned her blue eyes on James. They were so much like the blue eyes he had fallen in love with though entirely different to the ones he now found himself dreaming about. The dark blue eyes attached to the sarcastic, dirty-minded man down the hall. 

But they were still such familiar eyes; eyes he had had turned in his direction for years. Eyes that saw right through him and probably knew that he too was nervous. She squeezed his hands and he squeezed back, both of them silently reassuring each other that everything would be just fine. 

James heard Tony asking Alexei for drinks for himself and Sarah but he didn’t turn away from her because she was still holding his hands tightly. 

Tony disappeared and a moment later Alexei returned with refreshments. 

“You should try to drink something,” James told her. She sighed shakily, taking the water and sipping it slowly until it was empty. She was thirstier than she realized. “He’ll be okay.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“When has a bullet ever stopped Steve? He’s too stubborn to die.” 

Sarah laughed, not expecting that, and James was relieved to be able to provide some respite from her worrying. “You might just have a point.” 

Tony returned and sat down beside James in silence, staring at something in the room. 

James didn’t engage him in conversation. He wasn’t even sure how to comfort Tony. What would he say? He didn’t know him that well. Not like he knew Sarah. Maybe Tony would prefer to be left alone, to focus on other things. He decided to leave him for now and concentrate on Sarah. 

She put her head on James’ shoulder and he turned to press a kiss to the top, lifting his arm to wrap it around her and they stayed like that, occasionally speaking to one another quietly, until the nurse came in to tell them the doctor was on his way with an update. 

“He’s stable. An inch further up and we would be having a different conversation. He’ll be in his room in a few minutes,” the doctor said as he came in again. 

True to his word, a few minutes later Steve was brought into the room and again James’ tunnel vision returned. Steve was all he could think about. He went up to him and instinctively put his fingers against his pulse point despite the fact that he was hooked up to the EKG. 

He looked like he was just sleeping but James knew if he lifted that gown he would see the thick white bandages. 

James wasn’t sure he was totally capable of being there when Steve came to. He turned to Tony, noticing the way his eyes were glued to Steve, seeing the way his hand twitched and how his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something to the man. James narrowed his eyes. 

So it had happened. 

He cleared his throat to get Tony’s attention and said, “What time does Benni get out? Will he be alright if I pick him up?” James did not want to be here anymore. Steve would be fine. He knew he would be fine. James _could_ _not_ be here. He had worked too hard to get over Steve just to sit here and break his own heart all over again. 

Tony turned to James with visible effort on his part to stop watching Steve. “School ends at 2.30 pm. You don’t have to go. I’m sure Steve would be glad to have you here. Benni gets home alone most of the time,” he said. 

“It’s fine. He shouldn’t be alone. None of Steve’s men will be there either. Everyone’s—” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “I’ll be back.” He left the room without giving either of them the time to respond to him. He would wait for Benni to be done with school and bring him here and then he would check in from time to time. He would not be sitting and waiting by Steve’s side. He was too close to being healed for that. 

He left the room and went to Natalia’s room where Clint and Dmitri were as well. Clint and Natalia were playing cards, looking up when James came in and closed the door behind him. 

“Dmitri, we’re going to go pick up Benni,” he told him and Dmitri stood, bending to press a kiss to Natalia’s forehead that she pretended to swat away. 

James gave her a smile and when his eyes met Clint’s, he could see the gears turning in Clint’s head, trying to figure out why James seemed to care so much about Steve when he had seen James’ face before and after that mob meeting. He didn’t seem to care much for any of the other bosses. 

James didn’t say anything, he just left out and headed for the elevator. Clint caught Dmitri’s arm before he had a chance to run out as well.

“Meech, hey. Why does he care so much about Steve Rogers?” Clint couldn’t understand it. James had told him he didn’t like any of the other bosses. Granted, they were just getting to the Irish boss when said man was rushed into the hospital but even so, surely he felt the same way about Steve Rogers as he did about, say, Madame Gao. 

Dmitri let out a sigh. “He’s Winter’s closest friend.” He pulled away from Clint and ran down the hallway so he wouldn’t be too far behind James. 

Clint felt himself sway on his feet and then he dropped to the chair beside Natalia’s bed. She looked over at him, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. She collected the playing cards and put them on the side table. 

“What is it?” she asked gently. 

“He…” he trailed off, trying to remember the wording, make sure this meant what he thought it did.

_“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you have_ anyone _else? No friends?” Clint had asked James that night in his living room._

_James had looked away, out the window. Clint remembered wondering if he had upset him._

_“Yeah. I do. A very close friend, might even call him my best friend,” James had said._

_“Well, why on earth didn’t you go to him in all this mess?”_

_James had given him a smile so heart-wrenchingly sad that Clint was sure it no longer could be classified under smiles. “Not really an option.”_

_“And why not?” Clint had asked exasperatedly. Though he would probably never get him to admit it, James had a flare for the dramatic. That was what Clint assumed this was as well. He had a close friend he didn’t go to although he probably had zero reason not to; James just enjoyed the whole lone wolf thing. That is, until Dmitri forced him out of it._

_“He’s the one I fell in love with.”_

Natalia was snapping her fingers in front of Clint’s face. “Clint? _Clint_?”

“It’s him.” 

“Who? Who’s him?” 

“Steve Rogers.” 

“Um. Yes. Are you a fan?” 

“No. Natalia, it’s _him._ Steve Rogers is the man James was in love with,” he told her quietly. Her eyes widened. Clint had told her most of the details of that night when they’d talked. “Great. Just fantastic. I mean lucky me. I have Steve fuckin’ Rogers to live up to,” Clint said bitterly, letting his head drop down. “No wonder he’s not interested.” 

“Come on, Clint,” Natalia said, grabbing his hand. 

He turned to her. “Nat, have you seen the guy? He’s built like like the Empire State Building. All broad shoulders and mile long legs. Even I had a thing for him the first time I saw him.” 

“Maybe Steve Rogers is exactly what he _doesn’t_ want anymore.” 

“Oh so he doesn’t want a tall, blond-haired blue-eyed man?” 

Natalia raised one delicate eyebrow, somehow still unbelievably stunning even makeup-less and in a hospital gown. “Oh so now you and Rogers _do_ have something in common. Which one is it, Clint? Are you just alike or worlds apart?” 

“Ugh,” he groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. “Can you be just a little less horrible to me right now? I just found out James’ ex is the unfairly beautiful, rich and powerful Steve Rogers.” 

Natalia sighed. “Fine. But you should know that you're using up one of your three Natalia Is Nice To Me cards for this year.” Clint chuckled and Natalia reached over to run her fingers through his hair, happy to have made him smile. 

  
  


James thought about Clint a lot lately, especially with all the mental space he had freed up from Steve. Surprisingly, it had been easier to ignore how much he thought about him when he thought it was just sexual attraction pulling him towards him. But no, that wasn't the case and James knew better than to deceive himself into thinking it was anything less than actual feelings.

It worried James, even though he didn't intend on asking anything more than friends of Clint. What if he spent too much time around Steve and slipped back into old habits, old feelings? Steve’s mind and heart had not changed. If anything, now he was probably clear of all uncertainty. Steve’s heart belonged to Tony. James had to keep his distance for everyone’s sake. 

Dmitri stopped in front of the school and got out to open the door for James who stepped out and leaned against the car, his hands in his pockets, watching the school doors. He had a dark pair of sunglasses on, his expression tight. He was conflicted. He didn’t want to be away from Steve right now in case _anything_ happened but he also didn’t want to be near him mainly or his own sake. Was that selfish? 

After a few minutes, the bell rang, the doors were pushed open and all the kids came scrambling out. James spotted Benni and called out, a few kids’ heads snapping around at the deep, commanding voice but Benni, making his way to walk home on his own, stopped completely and turned at the sound of his name. 

Benni squinted and then waved. A few of the teachers paled at the sight of the car and the man standing outside it, recognizing James immediately. He wasn’t as easily recognized as some of the others but there were still a few who knew him. 

Benni skipped over and the teachers watched in shock and confusion as James held his arm out and then put it around Benni who hugged him. 

“Hi, James,” Benni said happily, “Hi, Dmitri.” A lot of the times Benni spent hanging out with Jones, Dugan and Falsworth also included Dmitri since he and Dugan were such good friends. 

“Hey, _malen’kiy,_ ” James said with a friendly smile, opening the car door and gesturing for Benni to slide in. He slid in after him and they pulled away from the school a few moments later. “I’m picking you up today. Something bad has happened to Steve. Sarah and your brother are already at the hospital. Steve should be fine.” 

Benni’s smile dropped and he sat back, frowning now. He looked at James and nodded. “Okay. Can we go there? I wanna see them.” 

“Of course. Dmitri,” James said and Dmitri nodded into the mirror. 

Steve was awake and talking when James walked in with Benni. Dmitri again headed back to Natalia’s room. James, carrying Benni, put him down and the boy ran over to Steve. 

James immediately inspected Steve though keeping his distance, relieved to see that he was getting his color back already. Steve really had seen worse injuries, didn’t mean James wasn’t a tad bit worried. Steve was already trying to negotiate leaving the hospital early though so James’ worries began to fade. 

“ _Stay in the bed, Steve. You almost ended up in a coma. Dugan and I are handling it. Your family needs you more than you need revenge,”_ James said in Russian and Steve glared but it cleared quickly as he suddenly seemed to realize that it was _James_ there and then he nodded. James gave him a tight smile and left before Steve or any of the others could say anything else. 

James wasn’t ready to see Clint again just yet knowing that he had most definitely put two and two together. Clint was quite a brilliant man who cleverly disguised that fact behind a charming clumsiness and puppy-dog stare but James had seen through that many times. He knew Clint had figured out that it was Steve who he had been in love with. 

He wasn’t ready for Clint’s almost certain interrogation and now his mind was switching into work-mode anyway as he thought about who he needed to take down to ensure Steve’s safety. For now, he just wanted to be alone, so he passed by Natalia’s room without looking in and went to his office. 

Clint moved to stand and follow him but Dmitri stopped him, a hand clasped tightly around his wrist. 

“Let him be for now.” 

  
  


Dmitri opened the office door, having brought Sarah upstairs. He had an update on Natalia but he would wait until Sarah had spoken to him. 

“You’ve never been the quiet one. That was always Steve,” she said. Dmitri left them alone. James turned, his face blank because there was too much going on and he didn’t want to explain any of it to Sarah. At least any of what pertained to Clint. 

“How are you?” James asked, completely avoiding her comment. 

“I’ve seen better days.” 

“Why are you up here?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it had but he also knew that Sarah recognized this, otherwise he’d be getting an earful right now on being respectful. 

“To talk. Also I have a request.” 

“He wants you to stay with me? Keep you safe?” She nodded, seeming surprised. “We’ve always had this plan in place. In case anything happens, you come to me. It’s fine.” He had been mentally preparing himself for them to come since picking them up from Steve’s home earlier. He had just pushed it to the very back of his mind. 

“The boys as well?” 

“Of course. I don’t hold a grudge because Steve chose Tony. It’s hard, yes, but I hope he’s happy.” He meant it. He was happy they had both found happiness. 

“You’re handling this very well.” 

He chuckled. “Ignoring the part where I completely removed myself from your lives for months I’m guessing?” He glanced down at some papers on his desk and then back up at her. There were fiscal records for the hospital and a phone number with a time next to it. On top was a note Clint had written him in his semi-legible chicken scrawl: 

_I found a pen and some paper and this is what I decided to write on it. CLINT BARTON WAS HERE :)_

He smiled, suppressing the urge to laugh because he knew now was not the time. No matter how truly adorable Clint was. James had never really used that adjective to describe a grown man. He didn't even often use it to describe children. Mostly animals, if he was being honest but Clint deserved it. He was as adorable as the day was long and—

He cut off his thought, realizing he had been quiet for longer than was necessary. 

“I’m not being cold towards Steve. You know I care and it’s not just petty heartbreak keeping me up here and not down there but I met someone,” he told her, his pulse speeding up, his fingers still touching the note, “and I like him.” He felt his stomach churn as he admitted that aloud for the first time. 

“But being around Steve is hard,” he continued, “and confusing. I’d like things with this other one to work out so I can move on and things can go back to normal.” He knew he hadn’t felt the familiar fluttering in his stomach when he saw Steve but he was not all too sure that wasn’t to blame on the situation. It was hard to feel infatuation when you were scared out of your mind and furious at the same time. He didn’t trust his heart to not suddenly turn on him for the person it had wanted for so long. 

“I understand,” she told him, moving in closer to pull him into a hug. “I’m not judging you. Hearts are fickle and complicated. I know you’re helping in the best way you can.” 

“They’re together now, I’m assuming.” Sarah nodded. The confirmation didn’t hurt as much as he had anticipated but the stinging was still there. “How long?” 

“Going on a month now.” 

“You’re positive the boy’s not just feeling like he has to?” He was worried for both Steve and his welfare. He really did want them both happy. 

“I am. Steve would know. And he would’ve asked and he’s positive himself that it is what it is.” James nodded, his arms crossed, looking out the window now. 

It still didn’t change anything. Even if Steve had Tony now, James did not want to jeopardize his friendship with Clint. It was too rare, too pure. Clint was such a unique person and James would do whatever it took to keep him in his life. He kept repeating this like a mantra because every time he saw Clint he found himself wondering why he hadn't made him his yet. 

Sarah was quiet for a moment and when James turned back to her, her expression had changed from worried to dangerous. 

“James,” she said, low and dangerous. “You do _whatever_ it takes to keep him safe.” 

James checked his pocket watch.

The phone on the table rang and he answered. It was Dugan giving him an update. He hung up a few seconds later. 

He cracked his neck, sliding his knife out of its sheath and twirling it between his fingers. “My ability to be in the same room as him won’t matter when I slit their throats,” James said casually, glancing up at her again, his eyes cold as ice. “No one messes with Steve.” 

“That’s what I want to hear.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James misses Clint more than he expected to, there’s some domesticity happening in the Romanov household, and no one hurts Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to BlanketOfDeath for writing this chapter with me and providing her wonderful Tony. And also, as always, for beta-ing. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is long as hell and I don’t know whether to apologize or say you’re welcome but I hope you enjoy it
> 
> Also, this lines up with Chapter 16 of TWYL I believe and just so you know (if you haven’t read The Way You Look) Tony is 19.

James and Steve were nothing if not prepared. Always. They both had emergency plans in place that left the people they cared most about in the world in the care of the person they trusted most. In this case, Steve had created his security plan around James, so now James watched as his men helped load a few of Benni, Tony and Sarah’s things into his and Steve’s car so that they could come stay at James’ where they would be safe from the threat facing Steve. 

Dugan had explained to James what was happening, about the letters and Steve’s stalker. About the man outing Steve before Steve got the chance to put a bullet between his eyes and Steve’s men had not taken well to the information, one of them had been responsible for his injury. Thankfully, Dugan had dealt with that situation before Steve even made it to the hospital. 

When they got to James’ home, Sarah went straight for the room she often used which was located on the third floor where James slept. As for the boys, Dmitri had set them up in one of the larger rooms on the second floor where he and, occasionally, Clint slept. Clint’s room was locked. James wasn’t quite ready to share Clint with the Rogers household just yet. 

James showed Tony and Benni to their joint room, assuming they might prefer to be together. It might make them feel safer to share a room, a bed. James assumed correctly and Tony thanked him. James explained where the bathroom was, extra sheets and pillows and that anything they found in the room was theirs to use. 

He turned to leave them to get situated and to start dinner, wanting to also talk to Dmitri who was currently securing the perimeter with Vitaly. 

As he was just about to walk through the door, Tony called his name.

“James?” James stopped but did not turn around. He knew that Tony might need someone to talk to who knew what was going on, but he also did not currently have it in him to be that person. Besides, he was terrible at being nice and reassuring. Clint could attest to that. “Thank you. Really.” 

James looked over his shoulder and gave Tony a nod, leaving. He made his way downstairs quickly and then into the basement where Dmitri was just coming back inside. He was wet, his black hair flat on his forehead; it must have started raining. 

“ _Secured_?” he asked him and Dmitri nodded, slicking his hair back with both hands and James reached behind the bar counter to grab a towel and toss it at him. “ _Hungry_?” Dmitri nodded again and they headed back upstairs, discussing the day’s events and what Dugan and Dmitri had managed to find out already. Dugan, it seemed, had been keeping track for quite some time of anyone with a negative attitude towards people like James and Steve. 

The news seemed to have spread quite substantially. For now, the safest move was to assume all of Steve’s men knew and to assume that none of them were fine with it. That was smarter than dropping their guard and having something happen that could’ve been avoided. It was also noteworthy that Falsworth, one of Steve’s right hand men, was nowhere to be found. On the other hand, Dugan was currently with Jones sweeping Steve’s home for any easy entrance points. Once Steve was discharged, he would go back to his home until the problem was fully resolved. That was the plan and James knew it. 

Since James felt everyone probably needed comfort food, he and Dmitri tried for the closest Italian recipe they knew—beef stroganoff, which was still Russian but they added pasta so it became a grey area. It took two tries for Dmitri to make pasta that did not immediately disintegrate when removed from the water but in the end they got there and the food was not bad at all. 

James rounded up the boys while Dmitri set the table, Sarah already sitting but a little in her head, not her usual talkative and commanding self. Instead of getting up to help or show Dmitri how a proper table should be set, she just smiled politely and thanked him for whatever he handed her. James kept a close eye on her for the entirety of the meal, even while he answered Benni’s seemingly endless questions about the house and what they could and could not do. 

Vitaly would be dropping off and picking up Benni up everyday from school. There was no room for negotiation, even though Benni insisted he was a big kid. It was the finality of Sarah’s even tone that finally got him to agree and not revisit the topic again. Vitaly would pick him up and drop him off, end of story. 

Dmitri did not talk much, frequently disappearing to take phone calls he could hear ringing at James’ desk. They were all from Dugan. Mostly information drops, information requests and the occasional _how is everyone_? 

By the end of dinner, Sarah was done socializing for the time being but took Benni to the living room with her for some downtime. James heard her open his liquor cabinet. Dmitri disappeared immediately after dinner, picked up outside by Dugan, and that left James and Tony alone. 

James gathered the plates and began washing the dishes as he always did. He fully expected Tony to head into the living room with Sarah and his brother so he almost startled when Tony came to stand beside him and dried what James washed. They worked in silence for a while, neither of them particularly good at talking nor having any idea what to say. 

Plus, James was worried about Steve, of course, but his mind kept flipping channels and right now it was marathoning a Clint Barton special. James felt a familiar tickling in his stomach at the thought of Clint and then a sort of plummet when he realized just how long it might be before he could enjoy one of their private get togethers. Perhaps at his office but it would constantly be swarming with his men as well as Dugan and Jones so that was a no-go. Clint’s bar was even more public and as for James’ home? 

Well, James currently had guests. Shame was the farthest thing from what James felt towards Clint. He was definitely not ashamed of him but until James was solidified in what he felt for Clint and didn’t feel for Steve, he didn’t want to bring him into the family and certainly not into the danger currently surrounding them all. He was so hellbent on getting things right with Clint. 

“The food was really good,” Tony said and it pulled James out of his thoughts of Clint. He turned to him and saw a smile waiting for him. He returned it, all lip, no teeth, and he knew it wasn’t quite genuine. He was not happy about a lot right at that moment. “I’m guessing there won’t be anything to do at the office for me. Anything I can help you around with?” 

James almost snorted. He was incredibly close to laughing but he remembered his manners and did no such thing. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head slightly. If Tony was asking about household chores, he would find something for him later but if he meant work affairs, well… Steve might trust him but that didn’t mean James did. “Steve and I don’t do business the same way. Speaking of, how’s that going?” It wasn’t the world’s smoothest transition but it would be nice to finally feed his curiosity. “I wasn’t even aware you were… interested in our type, shall I say?” He watched Tony closely, noting his reactions and microexpressions. 

“By ‘your type’ do you mean my sexuality, Steve’s and my relationship—” James felt it. He _fucking felt himself wince_. “—or mob bosses?” he finished with another grin. James’ answering one wasn’t even half as good as the first _awful_ smile he’d given Tony. “If the first, I didn’t quite realize it until a couple of months ago.” 

“Hm,” James said. He knew Tony was a good kid, he’d already assumed himself that Tony had feelings beyond the platonic for Steve but he just wanted to make sure they were genuine. Honestly, for both of their sakes. He didn’t want Tony feeling like he was obligated to give Steve this out of gratitude. That wouldn’t be good for either of them. “It’s a little too convenient for my liking.” He turned to Tony. “You just _realize_ you feel this way while he’s upset and vulnerable?”

Tony didn’t look happy about him saying that. Good. “Do you want to hear my life’s story and how I realized my feelings for Steve so you can be sure that I mean it and that I’m not just using him? For whatever reason that would be.” 

Again, James found himself wanting to laugh and knowing he definitely should not. “No, I most certainly do not. And I never said you were using him, you inferred that.” James was implying the opposite, actually. At least, that Steve was doing so unknowingly. He had a bad habit of not thinking through his actions or overthinking them into oblivion to the point of not even being able to see what he was doing. 

James leaned against the counter, done with the dishes. He took in a deep breath. At least five thoughts had gone through his head but they were decidedly all too inflammatory to say out loud. He just wanted them both safe and on the same page. Sure, they might get there on their own but what harm was there for a man fluent in Stevese to help out a little? 

This was a new, uncharted world for Tony in so many ways. Steve and James had been lucky enough to have each other but even then it had taken some time for James to understand how Steve worked. “Do you know why he was shot?”

“No, I don’t. Why?” Tony kept his face focused on the counter he was wiping down even though it was most definitely dry by now. James could tell he did not like that question. 

“Do you love him, _mal’chik_?” James asked instead of answering his question. He just wanted to watch his face. 

Tony turned to look at him and answered immediately, “More than I could ever say.” 

James didn’t let his expression betray how he was feeling. He was deeply relieved to hear that but he wanted to keep this conversation serious. “Then why don’t you know why he was shot?” 

“Because he lets me know if he thinks I should know. I don’t ask, I don’t question. He said he had business to take care of.” 

James would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t think it was counterintuitive. It was such a different perspective. One James would never be comfortable with though maybe Tony was. In any case, he should know why the man he loved was shot. That seemed like an important bit of relationship communication. 

“And you, as someone who loves him, as his significant other and someone he loves, should know what that business is. You shouldn’t have to ask him. I’m not saying Steve is keeping things from you, but he’s also not entirely used to sharing that portion of his life with people. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t with you.” James had also had it with Steve not knowing how to function around Tony. He could tell he thought he was protecting the boy but while ignorance may be bliss, it rarely equated to safety. Tony needed to ask and Steve needed to tell.

“Forming new habits takes time. All I needed to know for now is if he’s safe or not and if he’s going to handle it. Why it happened and how he can prevent it from happening again is not as important and can be figured out another time. He’s alive and he’ll heal. That’s all the information I need.” 

“ _As fucking naive as the day is long_ ,” James muttered in Russian, dragging a hand down his face and sighing. No, this habit needed to be kickstarted _now_. Steve lived a dangerous life and seeing as Tony was in love with him, constantly not knowing what was going on with him was going to drive the boy into an early grave from all the stress. At least if he knew, he might find some peace of mind at times. 

“Steve got shot for loving men, for being what we are. Half or more of his men know by now and they’re not going to take it well. This is not something that will blow over by the weekend. He’s—” He cut himself off. There was no point in telling Tony the odds. It would only scare him more and decrease his functional levels. “I don’t give a fuck what he said, Steve’s scared and the fact that you don’t know that speaks volumes so no, I don’t need to know your life story. This was enough.” 

James watched Tony’s face and when it didn’t seem like he would say anything he sighed heavily and left, balling up the dish towel and throwing it on the counter. 

He went upstairs to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He wasn’t actually throwing a tantrum but he hoped the display would be enough to send Tony out looking for answers. 

His bedroom was at the end of the hall of the third floor and was so large the windows on the right looked out on the front and the windows on the left, to the backyard. 

James went over to the window and saw Tony leave, Vitaly immediately stopping him, likely asking if he wanted a ride. James watched as he climbed into the car, arms crossed over his chest. He let out a sigh and headed to take a nice, long shower. 

Feeling more relaxed, he was just about to call it a night and have an early start in the morning when the phone rang. He groaned but got up to answer it where it rest on the bedside table. 

“ _Winter?”_

 _“Yes, Dmitri_.”

“ _Jones is cleared. Falsworth is in the wind. Former army sniper. Very unhappy about the entire predicament_ ,” Dmitri explained, giving him the information he and Dugan had uncovered. Dugan was on his way to Steve at the hospital now. James wondered how much Dugan knew, assuming he would most likely walk in on Tony and Steve together. Well, if he was alright with everything so far, James didn’t see why he wouldn’t be fine with Tony and Steve being together. Besides, James left Steve a gun. 

“ _Hm. Any information on his last known address?”_

 _“We checked, the place is empty. Looks like he gathered a bunch of stuff and cleared out. It was a mess. Dugan claims his sniper rifle was gone.”_ James closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm himself and order his thoughts. “ _Winter?”_

He opened his eyes and checked the time. So much for that early night. _“Come get me. We have work to do.”_

+

Despite having denied Natalia’s claims that he was moping, Clint was, without a doubt, indeed moping. He had a bad case of the mopes and Natalia’s patience was running thin, especially since she’d gotten out of the hospital after finding out it was nothing serious. Now she had work to catch up on and unwitting men to scheme. Not to mention a girlfriend to visit and all of that—except for the last thing, the last thing was a privilege—on top of Clint’s loud moping was not making for a good morning. 

“Don’t you have inventory or chair cleaning at the bar you could be doing?”

“Chair cleaning?” Clint repeated, lifting his head ever so slightly from where it had been resting on his hand, which was in turn rested on their kitchen table. He looked back down into his black, lukewarm coffee and sighed. 

“Oh my goodness, Clint. Go outside, would you?” 

“Why? All my big stupid feet wanna do is walk to James’ and I can’t see him right now,” he griped, sinking down further, letting his forehead rest on his folded arms. 

Natalia took a bite of her apple, one arm crossed over her chest while she watched Clint. She laughed quietly and he shifted his arm just enough to look up at her. “Now who needs friends?” 

He groaned. “I have friends, little miss devastatingly unhelpful. Phil, Fitz, Mack, Sam Wilson and his little gang of usuals _and_ James. The problem is the only one of ‘em I wanna see is currently unavailable.” James wasn’t _unavailable_ so much as he had told Dmitri to let Clint and Natalia know to keep their distance until the situation he was dealing with blew over. They didn’t know all of the details surrounding the reason for Steve Rogers’ hospitalization but they were both smart enough to know that anyone who managed to take him down _and_ have James on edge must have been someone smart and someone dangerous. For their own safety, they were respecting James’ request but Clint was suddenly having a hard time remembering _why_ he was safer further from James as opposed to with him. 

“You know, if you didn’t think so loudly I might not be able to tell you this but, Clint, you know where I stand on the issue of your safety. You steer clear of James until he tells you otherwise,” Natalia told him firmly, finishing the apple and tossing the core into the trash. She picked up her tea and finished it, setting the mug in the sink. 

“Not my mom,” Clint mumbled and Natalia rolled her eyes. 

“Right. I need to get to work. You?”

“I’ll go check on stuff tonight at the bar.”

“You know, I could use a hand today. I’m teaching a bunch of toddlers.” 

Clint sat up and cracked his neck, looking at Natalia sidelong. “ _Fine_. I guess there’s probably _something_ for me to do at the bar now.”

She patted his shoulder as she passed to finish getting ready. “There you go.”

It was going on day four without James and Clint was absolutely dreading it. He had never been so gone over someone that he felt miserable without them. And to think, James didn’t even know how he felt and Clint didn’t really intend on ever telling him. 

Clint leaned against the bar top, staring out at the mostly empty bar. There was a couple he was fairly sure he recognized in a far corner talking to one another. Fitz was sweeping the floor on the other side of the room, Phil was in the back taking a nap because apparently his newborn bundle of joy also had a pair of lungs on her that kept him up all night, and it was Mack’s day off. 

So far, as he had expected, not many people were coming in for drinks at eleven in the morning. Thanks, Nat, for making me come to work just to _not_ work, Clint thought to himself. 

He was wiping down the bar for the fifteenth time when he heard someone sit down on one of the barstools and let out a deep sigh. He turned to see a very striking man, his face sharp angles and porcelain skin. He glanced up from the briefcase he sat on the floor over to Clint, his eyes a shockingly bright green color. 

Clint made his way over to him, furrowing his brow. He recognized him, he just wasn’t sure why— 

“Good morning, you’re running for mayor, aren’tcha?” 

Loki chuckled softly, his thin lips turning up in a small smile. “Yes. I am. Loki Laufeyson. And you are?” 

“Clint Barton, owner of this bar,” he said, reaching over to shake his hand. 

Loki’s eyebrows went up in mild surprise. “The famous _Hawkeye_ belongs to you?” Clint nodded. “Well kudos. I’ve heard only good things.” 

_Hawkeye,_ the bar, had a little bit of everything. Clint just wanted a safe space and something to call his own when he came back. So he bought the bar and little by little added to it. First the bar itself and then he got his license and mixology skills. Then came the food menu, coffee, comfortable areas where people could sit for a while longer than the time it took to finish a beer and now it was the wonderful establishment that it was. 

A little worn in places, a little beat up but Clint said it gave it character. Not everything needed to be perfect. He liked that it had rough edges and imperfect parts. It just added to its charm. 

“Thanks. What can I get you? We also have a food menu,” he told him, setting it down on the counter and sliding it over to Loki. 

Loki gave him that same practiced little smile that Clint was getting a seriously bad feeling about. “I’m alright. Just wanted to come in, see it. Both for me and for my campaign. Let people know I’m part of the community.” 

Clint nodded, making a mental note to ask James about Loki because something felt off. Clint smiled, a much more genuine-looking one than Loki’s despite being just as insincere. “Well, I’m glad you chose my bar. You can be sure you’ve got my vote, Mr Laufeyson.” 

Loki gave him a polite nod, standing again already. He picked up his briefcase and extended his free hand to Clint, which he shook. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Barton.” He turned and left out. 

“Who was that?” Phil asked, coming out of the back in time to see Loki leaving. He was yawning and rubbing his tired eyes. 

“Future mayor of our great city,” Clint said sarcastically. 

“Which one?” 

“Laufeyson.” 

“The fella who looks like a bad guy from a children’s book? Of course this city would vote for _him_ of all people,” Phil said with an eye roll, making himself a cup of coffee. 

“Well, have you seen who’s left? And according to the papers, we dodged some serious bullets with some of those others who dropped out.” 

“True,” Phil said. “Speaking of scary things, how’s your scary friend?” 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” 

“What’s the matter? You two have a falling out?” 

“He’s busy.” 

“You fellas going steady?” Phil asked. Phil knew about Clint’s sexual preferences. He’d caught Clint flirting with a guy in the bathroom once and just walked out. Clint had almost run home, packed his things and moved but the moment he came out of the bathroom, Phil called him into the back room. He was hoping desperately that Phil could be persuaded to keep his mouth shut and luckily for Clint, not only did he do that but he told him that he himself played for both teams, he just happened to be married to a woman now. That moment bonded them and they had been close ever since. 

“No. He’s just a good friend.” 

“But you wanna be going steady with him?” 

Clint snorted, trying to hide how much he wanted to scream _YES_ and instead pretend that the very desirous thing Phil just mentioned was hilarious. “No. He’s just a friend.” 

“Hm,” Phil hummed, taking a drink of his coffee. “You always make _friends_ with mobsters?” 

Clint nearly choked even though he had nothing to choke on but air. He started coughing and turned to look at Phil. So he had recognized him. 

“No, this is my first time actually,” Clint said evenly after he had gotten his coughing under control. Phil was eyeing him over his coffee. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Clint Barton… you are something else,” he told him, clapping a hand to his shoulder and heading to the backroom. 

Clint laughed and then searched for a piece of paper and a pen, making a physical note that he put in his pocket so he wouldn’t forget to tell James about his interaction with Loki. Halfway through writing it, he wondered why he felt the need to tell James. Because it was strange? Because James would probably know more than Clint? Because James could protect him if anything were to happen? Or even just because he liked telling James things? 

Whatever the case, he slipped the note into the front pocket of his waistcoat and and made himself a coffee, heading over to an empty booth to sit and wait for customers. 

+

James was having a much harder time than he thought he would being separated from Clint. It shouldn’t have made sense that he thought about him even more now than he did before. Right? He should’ve thought about him more when he was seeing him constantly. Not now when it was going on day five. 

He’d been spoiled with Clint’s presence and now he felt like a kid whose most beloved toy had been taken away. Not that he viewed Clint like a plaything but all he wanted was to see him again. He wanted to hear his latest story about how he did something completely avoidable and managed to make matters worse by being uniquely Clint. He wanted to watch him eat his weight in a meal James made. He wanted to see him try out a new piece of furniture on his never-ending mission to sit everywhere. He wanted to kiss Clint, that’s what he _really_ wanted to do. 

“Ugh,” he groaned quietly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. He linked his hands behind his head and quickly slipped into a memory of Clint. There weren’t even any words in it, just the image of him in the living room while James looked over something at his desk, Clint talking animatedly, moving around the room, him laughing, smiling. 

Clint had one of those contagious smiles, laughs too, and it started in his eyes. James saw it every time he cracked a dumb joke. The way his blue eyes seemed to sparkle for a split second before his lips were pulling into a wide grin. A mischievous little giggle always preceded his actual full on laugh and James needed to hear that sound right about now. 

He sighed, feeling an ache in his chest. He swore internally. If this was what he called _not more than friends_ he was doing a terrific job. 

He looked down at the papers on his desk. Dmitri had brought over the files on the men Dugan had already highlighted as potential problems as well as those they had recently found. It was mostly to keep James updated on their progress. There was also a pile of potential suspects and he had men out looking for Falsworth who had yet to be seen since Steve was shot. 

Steve was back home after the first three days—despite the doctor’s and everyone else’s orders because he was a stubborn ass like that—and he had already been targeted in his own home. Got away with only popping a stitch but it was still too close a call for comfort. James had thereafter intensified his search and reached out to his contacts in the police, giving them the potential suspect lists, information and explaining that they were armed, dangerous and working independently of the Irish organization. He didn’t feel the need to give any more information, that would be enough to get the police actively involved in their capture. 

James was still staring at Falsworth’s file when there was a small knock on the open doors to the living room. Sarah was out with Benni—and four of James’ men—to get some ice cream and take his mind off what was happening. Hopefully it would be good for her too. 

James looked over to see Tony. Tony had mostly kept to himself since being there apart from meals and when he came downstairs for his daily phone call to Steve. It must have been some kind of emergency for him to actually seek James out. 

“Everything alright?” he asked, discreetly covering the files on his desk with a plain folder, he didn’t need to add anything to Tony’s stress. 

Tony didn’t like to disturb James when he was working but there was only so much doing nothing he could handle. “I was wondering if there was something I could do while we’re here. I’m not very good at sitting around,” he said, his voice low. It was weird to see James again. Why did he feel bad looking at him? Because he had seen him and Steve kiss and now he was the one who got to be with the man James was in love with? He kneaded his hands nervously and looked down at the floor. What was he doing here? James had better things to do than to entertain him and his boredom. 

James leaned back, honestly grateful for the distraction. He had almost had it with sitting and waiting for phone calls or missing Clint. James refused to leave the house while any of the other three were there unless it was packed full of his men who he trusted to keep them safe. Since the majority of them were with Sarah and Benni and his most trusted was out with Dugan and Jones, he stayed here to work instead of his main office, to keep an eye on Tony. Just in case anyone had put two and two together and decided to come after him. 

So he was bored but James wasn’t sure what he could give him to do honestly. There weren’t many chores that his usual weekly housekeeper didn’t take care of and he still wasn’t sold on the idea of involving Tony in his actual work. 

“Apart from keeping the books, what else did you do for Steve? Or Sarah?” he asked, hoping there would be something in his answer James could also give him to do. He gestured towards the couch closest to his desk for Tony to sit if he felt like it. He put the files away in the side drawer and locked it. 

Tony looked at the couch and considered sitting down. He would have if he hadn’t felt so antsy and nervous. All he wanted was to be with Steve. 

“Everything that needed to be done. Wrote copies, took files from one office to the other. Made sandwiches.” He couldn’t help but smile a little when he said the last thing. What he would give for some routine kitchen work right about now. “I’m not picky.” 

He didn’t sit. He was nervous. James could relate to the feeling. He let out a soft sigh and thought for a second. James had eaten the pasta Tony cooked that night at Steve’s house. Mainly because he knew Sarah had been with him the entire time. He didn’t really have any reason to believe Tony would do anything to hurt him, except for the fact that he likely knew about James’ feelings towards Steve. 

He debated it for a moment, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Would you be interested in making lunch? Whatever you feel like. Just make enough for two. Sarah took your brother out for lunch and ice cream.” 

“Lunch? I can do lunch.” He was getting too excited about having something to do and he knew that. “I’ll go see what I can make us.” His heart was feeling lighter now that he had a job. He would take his sweet time preparing lunch, not work fast but enjoy every single step.

Just before he headed out of the door, he remembered his manners and turned around. “Oh, thank you, James.” 

He headed into the kitchen and checked what James had in his fridge and then he started preparing the stew he had in mind. Unfortunately, James was missing a few Italian spices but he had a lot more than Tony expected him to have. 

He ended up making a thick minestrone, which was served lukewarm during summer. With the fresh bread James had it would taste just fine. 

Would they be eating together? Should he go get him? 

Tony was glad James wasn’t as tall as Steve because that meant everything in the kitchen was somewhat easily accessible to him. He found a ceramic bowl with a lid and filled it, sliced a few pieces of bread and put it next to the silver spoon and carried everything into the living room to James. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted to eat while working or not.” 

James had his feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chest and eyes closed when Tony came in with the food that belonged to the heavenly smell that had his mouth watering the last half hour. 

He opened his eyes to look at him. 

“Can’t work. Too much on my mind. Smells good, what is it?” He asked, standing and going over to the couch where he sat down and gestured for Tony to sit on the one opposite. There was a large coffee table between the two couches for Tony to put down the tray of food and once he did, James reached out for the one of the empty bowls and opened the larger ceramic bowl, inhaling deeply. It smelled wonderful. 

Too much on his mind? That comforted Tony more than he could have said. James was worried too! But that also meant it was more serious than he knew. If James was worried and had too much on his mind, why did Tony bother trying to calm himself down? Did that mean Steve was in serious danger? 

Tony was too busy overthinking and going through a lot of scenarios in his mind, making it impossible to reply. 

“Tony,” James said firmly, watching him, “breathe.” When Tony took in a shallow breath—not what James was going for but it was something at least—James put down the spoon. He would have to learn to be more careful with his wording. Tony seemed to spook easily. At least when it came to Steve. “Steve’s not the only thing on my mind. _He_ will be _fine_.” Which wasn’t a lie. Steve would be. Steve would sooner walk off being killed like it was a punch to the gut than be taken down by anyone. James was thinking about Clint. 

Tony looked at James, into his steel blue eyes. They were so different from the blue eyes he was used to. God, how he missed Steve. 

“Thank you,” he whispered with a weak smile. He did appreciate James’ effort to calm him. It also helped that the soup smelled so strongly and distracted him from his thoughts, even if it was only for a few seconds. “This is minestrone. It’s not usually eaten when it’s still boiling hot in summer. I hope you’ll like it.” He took his bowl and dipped some of the bread into it until it was soggy, then cut it with his spoon and ate slowly. It was good. Not nearly as delicious as his mother’s but it was something and the familiar taste felt like a warm hug, something he needed right now.

James gave him a nod, taking his bowl and sitting back with it in his lap. He picked up one of the pieces of bread and dipped it in the soup, tentatively taking a bite. It was delicious. The warmth even on a warm day was relaxing. James closed his eyes and made a quiet sound of delight. 

He looked over at Tony. “This is delicious. That’s twice now you’ve surprised me with your cooking skills, you know?” He wiped at his mouth with a napkin and picked up his spoon. “Is Sarah aware that she has competition?” 

“Thank you for the compliment but we both know I’m no competition for Sarah Rogers. Cooking… it’s easy. Controlled. That’s why I like it.” He allowed himself to get more comfortable as he slowly ate. 

James chuckled. “Don’t let her know I said this but I don’t think she could do this. She makes a mean lamb pie but Italian food?” He gave Tony a smile and took another spoonful, humming happily. Clint would love this. In all fairness, Clint would love any food but he would really like this. Maybe one day in the future Tony might make it for them all. He fell into his usual silence, deep in his thoughts, as they ate. 

Tony felt his face heat up, feeling the blush spread over his face. That was a great compliment. He couldn’t wait to see Steve again and tell him. 

“It’s all in the spices,” he said, feeling the need to make it clear that it wasn’t difficult to make. “I hope Sarah will teach me some of her secret recipes. I was thinking about writing down her recipes just to save them for the future. Maybe it would be a good way to distract the both of us while we’re here.” He stirred the soup in his bowl, careful not to touch the bowl’s walls with his spoon. It was one of the things his father used to hate and would freak him out. Even though he was gone now, Tony still didn’t dare risk it. 

James looked up at him, distinctly aware that Tony had said something. He looked away for a moment and tried to remember and then nodded. “I think she would really like that,” he told him. “I wouldn’t mind getting a copy of your recipes some time.” He finished the bowl and the bread and leaned back, debating having a second bowl and deciding to give it a moment. 

They continued eating in silence until they were both done and Tony collected everything, put it on the tray and headed for the kitchen. James was about to follow for a drink when he paused. Maybe Tony wanted a quiet moment to himself as much as James currently did. 

  
  


**Day Seven**

_“I want Mikhail to handle that. I’ve seen what he can do with a knife. You concentrate on the finding Falsworth,”_ James told Dmitri, putting the file Dmitri had given him in with the others. Another name to be added to the list of mutineers, so to speak, except this one had been called in by J. Jonah Jameson whose fear of James outweighed his desire for a good front page story. James, in a display of appreciation, sent Jameson an envelope of cash. 

They weren’t sure how many others remained who would rather report their boss for being a deviant than stand by him as the same man he’d always been but James felt like they were narrowing it down. Some seemed to know nothing, others knew but said they didn’t care as long as they could keep their job and then there were men like Billy who had gone to The Daily Bugle. 

_“Yes, Winter,”_ Dmitri agreed. _“Also, this just came in the mail. It’s late but it’s all there. I checked.”_

James took the envelope of money he was given and sat it on his desk, taking out his pocket watch to check the time. 

James looked up to say something else when his phone rang. He picked it up immediately. 

“ _Da_ ,” James said, and then, “Officer Davis, hello.” He listened for a minute to the intel he was being given and then hung up, immediately writing down what he had been told and handing it to Dmitri. 

Dmitri checked the paper and left without another word, not wanting to wait. He ran downstairs to where Dugan was waiting by the entrance and handed him the paper and they both headed out and got in the car, Jones at the wheel. They’d been given a tip. Someone had spotted Falsworth. 

James paced, running through different scenarios they could use to set him up and capture him if Dmitri and the others didn’t manage to today. This was beginning to stress him. It had been a while since someone had so successfully avoided James and all those whom he controlled. Falsworth was obviously quite intelligent which made him very dangerous and didn’t bode well for Steve. 

He didn’t doubt Steve’s chances of survival but he did know that if they didn’t get him soon, he might at the very least catch them by surprise which was never a good— 

James shoved the person who touched him against the wall, his knife at their throat. He was so tightly wound that he was all instinct over rationality. 

“ _Clint_ ,” he hissed, dropping the knife immediately. It landed point down in the hardwood floor. James still had his arm pressed firmly across Clint’s chest, pinning him to the wall and thankfully the blade had not broken the skin. “What the _fuck_? I told you it’s not—”

Clint shut him up with a kiss. It was rough and desperate, nothing sweet about it, and James tensed at first but then matched the movements of Clint’s lips against his, his eyes closing. 

Clint’s lips parted and James took the hint and slid his tongue into his mouth. Hearing a soft sigh escape Clint’s mouth that made James press closer, his free hand moving down to grab a handful of Clint’s ass and he made a sound that James thought might be illegal. He moved to Clint’s neck, kissing and biting, knowing it would leave marks. 

Clint’s head fell back against the wall and he let out a shaky sigh, his hands on James’ hips, holding him firmly to his body, and ever so slowly he moved his own against James’. 

James came back to Clint’s mouth, not having had nearly enough of those lips or the way Clint tasted—like pizza and gin— just yet. He bit Clint’s bottom lip gently and then was kissing him again, one hand moving up to the back of his neck to steady him. 

James could feel the hard line of Clint’s arousal against his leg, he knew he was just as worked up and it was getting more intense by the second, harder to ignore. 

He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and directed him towards his desk, never breaking the kiss. Clint was pushed back onto it, sitting, and now James had the height advantage, stepping into the space between his legs, tilting Clint’s head up to kiss him more easily, his hands each holding a handful of thigh, squeezing them. James’ hands moved further up Clint’s thighs and Clint moaned loudly and they both froze. 

Clint’s hands were on James’ back, stopped where they had been moving over the muscles. James turned his head towards the door, even though someone would have to be out of their damn mind—or Dmitri—to open that door uninvited. He turned back to Clint and moved back a bit, his eyes sweeping up and down him, focusing on his swollen, pink mouth and the barely concealed arousal. 

“So you’re loud. Good to know.” 

“I don’t have to be,” Clint said a little desperately, leaning forward, trying to catch his lips again but James pulled away. 

“Clint—”

“No, no. It’s okay. No need for a speech. I get it,” he told him quickly, breathlessly, sliding off the desk to stand again. Hurt flashed across his face that made James’ heart ache. “I’m not who you want and—”

“ _Stop_ talking,” James told him and Clint’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes falling to the ground in shame. “You are exactly who I want.” 

Clint’s head snapped up at that and his eyes met James’, searching them, hoping he was seeing honesty in them. “What?” 

“I want you,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. He watched Clint’s face, saw as the realization lit up his eyes and sent his eyebrows up to his hairline in surprise. “I do. Just... not right now with everything that’s going on. And not like this.” 

“Not like what?” 

His hand moved to Clint’s cheek, traced the hard line of his jaw, down a vein in his neck to his collarbone as he spoke and Clint leaned into the touch, his skin burning hot wherever James touched. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this,” he told him, his voice low, and he watched Clint’s throat as he swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. His fingers trailed absently up and down Clint’s arm as he spoke. “But it was never a rushed, stressed thing between us in my office. At least, not at first.” 

Clint swallowed. “Why—why didn’t you say anything?” 

James sighed and met his eyes again. “I didn’t want to lose another friend. In case you didn’t feel the same.” 

“In case I didn’t feel the same? What—James, have you met you?” James smiled and Clint leaned forward and kissed him again. “Look, I know I’m not Steve—” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“That’s what I said. I don’t want Steve,” he said, firm and clear as he stared into the eyes of the man he very much _did_ want. “I want you. Just you.” 

“Just me, huh?” He asked, trying for his usual comedic approach but it wasn’t as secure as usual. James could hear the slight tremor to his voice, not sure what to attribute it to. “You make a fella feel like he’s special or something.” 

“You are,” James said, closer again, his voice so sincere and gentle Clint almost couldn’t believe it. James grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. He brought it up to press a kiss to the back of it, all the while his eyes were fixed on Clint’s. 

Clint, acting solely on impulse, kissed him again, his hands coming up to hold James’ face between them. He was so in love with him it wasn’t even funny. 

James broke the kiss again and Clint whined. 

“Aw, come on,” he said, pouting. James smiled and then his forehead was falling against Clint’s chest and he let out a sigh. Clint watched him in surprise. It was such an innocent action. It left him so vulnerable. Clint rested a hand on the back of James’ neck, scratching lightly and James let out another sigh, feeling tension in his chest fade that he didn’t know he was holding. “Just a few more kisses?” 

James shook his head, trying to muster the self-control to move away and send Clint home again but then… he was safest with James, right? No. That was selfish. Clint was safest away from and unaffiliated with everything that was currently going on. 

“No, it’s not safe for you to be here right now. I meant that,” James said, slowly bringing his head back up and Clint’s hand instead went to his shoulder. James grabbed Clint’s sides and he gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Soon though. Once this is all sorted out. Besides, you deserve all my focus and right now it’s divided.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll take two percent of you over none of you.” 

“ _Clint_ ,” James sighed. “I just want you safe and right now with me is not where you’re safe.” 

“It’s where I’m happy.” 

“Low blow,” James told him and Clint had the decency to look ashamed. “But unfortunately I’d rather you be safe and sad than happy and in danger. How did you get in here anyway?” 

An embarrassed grin spread across Clint’s face. “I may or may not have sulked at the door until that big fella let me in. He recognized me, said I could go up if I didn’t tell who let me in—oh shit. Never mind. It was a small man. Very small. Maybe two feet tall.” 

James laughed, kissing Clint with a loud, happy smack. “Mm,” he hummed, licking his lips. 

There was a knock at the door and the both of them broke apart from one another immediately, Clint landing on the couch as James told whoever it was to come in. 

Dmitri opened the door, took in the scene, looked at each of them in mild confusion and then entered the room, closing the door behind him. 

“How did you get in?” he asked Clint immediately. 

“A two foot tall man let him in,” James said before Clint could speak. 

“I—what? Wait.” Dmitri waved the thought away. “I don’t want to know.” Clint snickered. “Unfortunately, it was a bust. No Falsworth.” 

“Dammit,” James swore. “And now he knows we’re onto him and getting close. Not good.” He started pacing again and Clint watched, worried but quiet. 

“We will get him,” Dmitri said. James nodded but didn’t add anything. “I have to go. Just wanted to update you. We may have a lead on one of the other two.” James nodded and Dmitri headed out, giving Clint a nod as he did so. 

“Hey,” Clint said, turning to James. He had remembered his unexpected visit from Laufeyson and wanted to ask James about it but when James turned to him, he saw the worry on his face that had been carefully concealed moments ago and he changed his mind. He would ask him when things were better. “Let me leave you to it.” 

He stood and James caught his wrist, pulling him in for another kiss, his other hand firm and strong on Clint’s back. “Please be careful.” 

Clint nodded and James let go. “I will. I’ll call when I’m at the bar.” 

“Wait.” Clint stopped and turned to face James. James felt his heart thud loudly in his chest. “Did you come here just to do that?” 

“No, I just came to see you. I missed you. A lot. The kiss? That took both of us by surprise.” 

James’ chuckle was weak because his mind was more focused on _I missed you._ He let out a deep exhale. “So why did you? Kiss me, I mean.” 

Clint blushed a deep red. “I, uh, the—well, if I’m honest, the knife to the throat was pretty damn hot.” He covered his face with his hand, letting out a quiet groan. “I can’t believe I just admitted that. I’m gonna go now before I lose any more of the little dignity I have left.” 

Again he grabbed Clint’s wrist before he could get too far away and he tugged at it until Clint took the few steps needed to be in James’ space again. 

“Thought you wanted me to leave and be safe or some nonsense.” 

James sighed but it wasn’t playful and Clint caught on and sobered up as well. “There’s so much to talk about,” James said quietly, searching Clint’s eyes, trying to see if they were on the same page here. He couldn’t tell. He wouldn’t know until he asked and right then wasn’t the time to ask. That would have to be left for another, less hectic time because that conversation would be too long. “I don’t want this right now to feel rushed. Like it’s unimportant. It’s _very_ important, it’s just—”

“I understand. If there’s anything that dumb tension between you and Nat taught me, it’s that my safety is priority number one.” 

“Yes. It is,” James agreed without hesitation. 

“In which case, it’s fine. And we can talk some other time.” 

“Thank you,” James told him, his eyes darting to the door and then back to Clint. He leaned in again, kissing him softly, their lips finding their rhythm easily and James’ heart was beating so fast he almost didn’t know what to do with the sudden surge of energy he felt. “Maybe you can stay until I leave for the day and then—“ 

“No,” Clint said and James moved away from his lips, surprised. “If I do and _anything_ happens—even a paper cut—I know exactly who you’ll blame.” He poked a finger into James’ chest. “None of that, sergeant dramatic.” 

“Just one more thing,” James said and Clint rolled his eyes but was only too eager to drag out his time with James. 

James went over to his desk and picked up the envelope of money Dmitri had delivered to him, placing it in Clint’s hand. Clint opened it, already knowing what it was but needing to see it for himself. “James, I don’t understand.” There must’ve been somewhere around two thousand dollars in there. Maybe more. 

“Remember that Dodger’s game I bet on?” Clint nodded. “Well, they won. Here’s your cut.” 

“It’s your mon—” 

“It was your bet. I kept some. That’s yours.” He wouldn’t be telling Clint that all he’d taken for himself was enough to buy some bread and sweets from his favorite bakery. And technically it still wasn’t a lie—he _had_ taken some of the money. 

James watched Clint debate with himself. He chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at the envelope and then up at James. “There’s no way I can get you to keep this, can I?” 

“In all seriousness, why would you _not_ want it? It’s fairly won money. I used my personal account to bet on it, it’s not money from—” He was reaching up to gesture around him when Clint interrupted. 

“I told you I don’t care about all that. I meant it then and I mean it now. But this is just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep giving me stuff to keep me around.” 

“I don’t,” James said immediately. “I give you things because I _enjoy_ it and I like you. I see no downside.” And after they had had their much needed chat, if Clint was thinking along the same lines as James—if Clint wanted the same thing he wanted—James’ spoiling was only going to get worse. He wanted to give Clint Barton the entire world. 

“Okay,” Clint conceded, putting the money away inside his jacket pocket. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank _you_. I don’t know shit about baseball.” Clint laughed. 

“No, you don’t,” he agreed, remembering the chat they had had that day. 

James rolled his eyes, a smile on his face that only Clint seemed able to put there. He kissed him one last time and then moved away from him completely, watching him go and immediately calling downstairs. Anatoly picked up. “ _Make sure Clint gets to the bar without incident. Report anyone suspicious along the way to me.”_

_“Yes, Winter.”_

+

**Day Nine**

James sat on the couch in the living room, watching the fire roar. It was nearly summer but it was still cold in the evenings so he’d lit it and come to watch it, nursing his third or fourth scotch on the rocks. 

He couldn’t sleep, there was too much going on both externally and internally. Falsworth still hadn’t been caught but one of the two lackeys had. So he was no longer a worry but there was still Falsworth and the other one and they hadn’t so much as been rumored to have been seen in the last couple of days. It had James on edge because what the hell was he planning? 

If he had just attacked already, James could rest easy knowing he’d be dead and the biggest threat was eliminated. If he had skipped town, they would also know that he was out of their hair and too cowardly to try and go toe-to-toe with Steve Rogers but he hadn’t done that either. Instead he was being incredibly careful, taking his time to plan things out and anyone who did that was, as James had already concluded, incredibly dangerous. 

He took a sip of his scotch, enjoying the burn and staring at the fire. It was almost three in the morning but every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Steve getting shot in the head and really, that was not nearly as sleep-inducing as sheep hopping a fence so he stayed awake. This was day three of no sleep. The last few days he had at least been able to grab three or four hours but not now. Plus he had the additional worries on his mind tied to Clint Barton.

He hadn’t seen Clint since the other day at his office. He had made it safely to his bar—he’d made good on his promise to call once he was there and Anatoly went above and beyond and checked twice for any potential threats before heading back to James. Still James worried. He worried for Clint’s safety, he worried for Clint’s wellbeing, especially now that things had come out. There was no taking it back. Not that James wanted to but he did worry that he might not be the right fit for Clint. 

He took another sip of his scotch when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. They were soft, almost silent. He gripped his hand around his knife, his eyes fixed on the doors to the living room. 

Tony thought he was doing pretty well all things considered. The daily check ins with Steve were never long enough but it was something. Writing down Sarah’s recipes helped to distract him but it only worked when everyone was awake. At night when he was left alone with his thoughts and worries there was nothing to keep him distracted. Nothing was interesting enough to keep him focused or make him feel anything other than pure sorrow and heartache. When did he get so used to Steve and being around him that now it seemed impossible to do anything without being by his side? He had lived almost nineteen years without him and now he barely made it through nine days. 

When he got too restless in his bed, he decided to walk around. By now he was familiar with the layout of James’ home so he didn’t need a lot of light to find his way. Maybe walking to the kitchen, drinking some water and walking back would do the trick. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it? 

On his way to the kitchen he saw light coming from the living room. That couldn’t be. Why would anyone be up? Apart from him, obviously. As silently as possible he went into the living room and was greeted by the warmth that came from the fire that was lit. 

“James!” His voice was still thick from sleep and barely audible—no, he had not been prepared to see anyone else awake or talk to them—but it was enough to get James’ attention. 

James carefully slid the knife back under the couch cushion and gave Tony a tight smile. Company wasn’t really what he wanted but, as Clint enjoyed reminding him, it was probably what he needed. 

“Tony,” James said, motioning to the other empty couch with the hand not holding his drink. He took another sip and then ran his fingers through his hair. His hand landed on his thigh and he looked at it, remembering the feeling of holding Clint’s. They had to find Falsworth and the other kid soon. Not just for Steve and Tony’s sake but James was actually going to go insane with how much he missed Clint. 

Tony headed to the couch and sat down. It seemed unnecessarily rude to decline the offer and go back to bed where he would lie wide awake. The least he could do was show some respect. 

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” For a second he wondered if something happened and that’s why he was down here sitting in the dark living room. He realized that it was unlikely since Sarah was still asleep and James wasn’t armed to the teeth and covered in blood. No, Tony didn’t know how he did his thing and honestly, he didn’t need to know. Not that he was judging him. Just like Steve, James did nothing without good reason and he was fair. Still, Tony knew how skilled James was with one knife alone. He had no intention of finding out more than that. 

“Same as you,” he said, finishing his drink and standing to get another. “Can’t sleep.” He cracked his neck and walked over to the cabinet, pouring himself his fourth or fifth drink. Who was counting at this point. “Want anything? There is also water over here.” 

It was the first time ever Tony had seen James in his pajamas and nothing else. In that very same moment he remembered that he too wasn’t wearing anything else, even less so than James who at least had slippers on. 

“I’ll take that water please,” he said, looking down at himself and quickly fixing his bed hair. “Thanks,” he mumbled when he was given a glass of water. “I could never live in such a huge house all by myself.” Tony didn’t mean to say that out loud. It was a thought but somehow his mind thought it was a good idea to say those words right next to James. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he added to it. “Must get awfully lonely.”

James figured he might as well stew in his misery and he answered Tony honestly. “It does,” he said, sipping the new drink. “Wasn’t always empty,” he added, looking around as he remembered not just the the time so long ago when his family lived there but also to a few weeks ago when it was filled with the loud sound of his, Natalia, Clint and Dmitri’s laughter as they sat in the living room, drinking and sharing stories. “Dmitri lives here most of the time as well, though. He’s just… busy. Working with Dugan and Jones right now.” 

Yes, he knew that feeling. He thought after Nella’s death things had been grim around the house but after his mother’s death the real hell on earth started unravelling. 

“You don’t have to be alone, you know. Benni loves you tons and wants to learn Russian and Sarah has more than enough love for all of her children.” It was supposed to be a nice thing but then he remembered that it might stir up feelings in James that weren’t all that pleasant and Tony hated himself for that. “Speaking of her, she was flattered when I asked her for recipes. I’m having a hard time with her measurements. ‘You’ll know when it’s right’ doesn’t tell me exactly how much garlic she uses with her chicken.”

James nodded slowly, giving himself time to come up with a response. It hit a sore spot, even though he knew he wasn’t really alone anymore but it reminded him of it. Of the weeks after his family passed. Of the weeks after confessing to Steve. How that felt, how lonely he was. Particularly the night he’d passed out and Dmitri had found him. That was not his proudest moment. But he wasn’t alone, he reminded himself. 

It was also a weird situation. Tony talking to him like this. They hadn’t really had a genuine conversation. Not even when James had given him the task of preparing lunch. He was a sweet kid. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, “I doubt love is how Benni feels towards me but I appreciate the sentiment. I can teach him Russian. Or Steve can, if you’d rather. I taught him. He speaks it fairly well.” He stared at the fire again. “And I’m sure Sarah will find the time to tell me off for being gone so long,” he added with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He closed them, he just wanted Clint. 

Tony had said something else. James wanted to tell Tony that he didn’t have any hard feelings towards him over what happened with Steve. That he was glad they had found happiness with each other, but he figured perhaps it was just better to change topics altogether and maybe he’d tell him another time. 

“What was that about garlic?” James asked and Tony repeated himself. James smiled. “Oh, right. The way Sarah cooks you’d almost think she was a witch. _Definitely_ don’t tell her I said that.” 

James’ silence was eerie. Tony didn’t know him, not nearly as much as he probably should have considering everything James had done for him. But Tony didn’t and he wasn’t sure James would appreciate it anyway. 

“Did you just give me blackmail material for you?” Tony asked, unable to keep himself from chuckling softly. 

James looked over at him, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion until he understood and then he laughed softly. “Guess I did. Make sure you make it count when you use it.” He turned back to the fire, swirling the drink in his hand, a small smile still lingering on his lips. He should’ve had brandy to remind himself of Clint but he was pretty committed to scotch at this point. 

The fact that he made James smile was a definite win. It made Tony excited and hopeful. “I’ll make sure I will,” he told James and allowed himself to be more comfortable, crossing one leg under him. “Would you give me recipes of yours too?”

James snorted, turning to Tony again. “You want some of _my_ recipes? You don’t have to be nice to me, you know. I would’ve taken you in even if I hated you, which I do not.” 

“You were nice to me from the beginning. I was hoping that things didn’t change,” he said with a shrug. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud but why was he being so nice? Steve loved him, not James! “You made that whole meal and it was delicious. I just want to know how you did it. Only if you’re up for that of course.”

James hummed, taking in Tony’s words. “Things haven’t changed. I do like you, Tony. And I like you and Steve together. It’s nice. I mean that,” he told him, sighing. “Sure. I’d be happy to teach you a few of mine if you’ll return the favor.” 

“Thank you. It would be only fair if you felt any other way but you don’t.” He put his glass down on the small table next to him. Should he comment on Steve and him? Or would that be weird? “I think we have a deal,” he said instead and looked around. He remembered seeing pen and paper somewhere around there and when he spotted it, he got up and grabbed both. “Ready when you are.”

James eyed him for a second and said, “You’re a good person, Tony.” 

James watched him get the pen and paper and come back to the couch. He put his drink down on the table, the glass just ice cubes, and said, “Which recipe first?” 

Tony did not know what to say to the compliment James just gave him. It meant a lot but also left him speechless for a second. 

“I don't know what it's called. The soup you made. Remember that?” 

James got himself a piece of paper and a pen after a while and started writing down the recipes that Tony gave him as well as sharing his own. It was more enjoyable than James ever would’ve guessed and turned out Tony was fairly decent company. 

It was nearly five in the morning when James stood to refill his drink, this time with water, and Tony yawned. James came back to sit, dragged a hand down his face. He was exhausted but he knew the most he would probably manage if he tried now was one or two hours. He turned to Tony. 

“You planning to sleep?” 

Tony read the recipes James had written down and then the ones he wrote just to make sure everything was legible. James’ handwriting was really nice, almost nicer than Steve's even. And then there was his own handwriting. He never learned how to write proper cursive but in the end it didn't matter since he never got to finish school anyway. 

“Hm?” He looked up. “No, if I go to sleep now, I'll sleep for most of the day.” He couldn't waste a whole day sleeping it away. There had to be something he could do. 

James stretched, feeling his joints crack and pop. He was going to regret this later on, not even trying to sleep. He looked over at Tony and then jerked his chin in the general direction of the kitchen. “How about you make us some of that coffee Steve raves to me about and I’ll make breakfast?” 

“I can try but I gotta say, half the praise goes to the roast of the espresso.” He sorted the papers and got up to go to the kitchen. Steve told James about his coffee. His Steve talked about him and his coffee. His Steve. Tony stopped in the kitchen and looked up, swallowing hard. Steve. He couldn’t wait until it was time for the daily check in calls. 

“Wow what’s that?” He asked when he saw something that looked like it was suppose to make coffee but he couldn’t be too sure. 

James turned to look where Tony was looking and smiled. “It’s a coffee machine. I like technology,” James said, opening the fridge to see what was there. “An amateur inventor who is… indebted to me made it for me. I can show you how it works if you need me to.” 

“Yes!” He answered a little too fast and too excited and it made him blush in embarrassment. “I mean, yes, please.” 

“I’ve been told it’s complicated,” he said, coming over to turn it on and show Tony exactly how it worked. “You just turn this and then see here? This is where the coffee goes and then see? It drips. Here the water is heated and then it moves through this rubber hose onto the coffee. And then there’s a mechanism that prevents overheating by—” James stopped, his eyes sliding to look at Tony from the side and he stood up straight again and cleared his throat. “Yes, I know. I’ve been called a nerd before.” He gave him a shorter explanation on how it worked without all of the ‘nerd-speak,’ as Clint called it. 

Tony’s eyes were glued on the machine in front of him. “Wait. What? What’s the mechanism that prevents it from overheating?” He asked, curious to know more. 

James, halfway to the fridge again, stopped and turned back, raising an eyebrow. Tony wanted to know more. And he wasn’t asking sarcastically. He genuinely wanted to know. 

“Well,” he began, trying to hide how excited he was to actually tell someone about his nerd tech. “There’s a thermostat attached to the heating elements that turns the heat off…” He finished his explanation and looked at Tony, curious to hear his reaction. 

“That's so amazing!” He pulled the machine towards him to look at it from every angle possible. If only he could take it apart to look inside and study everything part by part. “Are they going to patent this and sell it? Imagine if you could have it fill itself with water and turn on using something to, you know, start it from the living room.” He looked at James, slightly embarrassed about his enthusiasm and grateful for James being willing to give him this much detail. “So, turn it on? You don't need me to make coffee for you.”

“That _would_ be amazing,” James agreed, genuinely interested. “Yeah, he’s going to patent it soon I believe.” James closed the fridge now that he has ingredients for a simple but filling American-style breakfast. “I don’t know. I think certain people are still able to change the way it tastes. Cl—a friend of mine made me some a while ago. Not that great. Though I didn’t tell him that,” he said with a chuckle, cracking the eggs in the pan. 

“If you gave me an espresso maker I'll make you good coffee but I don't want to break this before it's been marketed and sold.” He was still looking at the machine even though he had seen everything there was to see apart from the insides. 

“Unfortunately, that’s the only one I have. I think. Check the cabinets under the sink. The old one might still be there actually.” 

Tony’s heart broke a little at James not being sure of whether or not he had an espresso machine. As much as he liked the new tech, he preferred what he knew. Eventually he did find and wash it, grinding the beans and making coffee the best way he knew how. 

Just when he was done making coffee, James served breakfast. The eggs were fluffy and soft, rich in taste. Coffee and eggs for breakfast. Now all that was missing was Steve right next to him. 

He played with the cup between his hands and stared into the dark liquid. There was this heavy feeling in his stomach, some instinct that always warned him ahead of bad days. It was a feeling he had almost forgotten and one he certainly didn’t miss. It couldn’t be because something was wrong with Steve. Nothing could be wrong with him. Tony couldn’t lose him.

“James,” he said, his voice shaky but before he could continue, Benni was coming in, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“It smells good in here.”

Tony opened his arms and picked his brother up, kissing his cheek. 

“Good morning, _cucciolo._ ” He kissed his other cheek. “I’m sure James will make you breakfast, if you ask nicely.” 

“Oh yeah, please can I get breakfast too?” Benni asked, looking at James. “Oh but we have to get _zia_ Sarah. I’m sure she’ll want breakfast too.”

“That’s a good idea. Go wash your face and wake _zia_ and if you’re nice, I’ll have hot cocoa waiting for you.” He let him back down and watched him go back upstairs. Benni was always a great distraction from whatever was going on in his head and from what he was fearing. There it was again, the fear right there in his heart and mind. 

“James, have you heard from Steve at all since last night’s check in call?”

James sipped the coffee. Steve was right, it was delicious. He looked over at Tony, took on his body language with a glance and put the cup down. “No but he’s never been a particularly good communicator,” he said, hoping to alleviate some of Tony’s stress with a little humor. “If anything was wrong, he would’ve contacted. If not him, Dugan, Jones or Dmitri would have.” 

Tony chuckled weakly and nodded. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. He’s fine. It’ll be fine.” He nodded to James and took a deep breath. “Do you have cocoa? For Benni, not me, obviously.” He got up and finished his cup of coffee before making more coffee and hot cocoa too. Soon he would be back to helping Sarah around Steve’s house and make him coffee too. They would have breakfast together and just be themselves. 

Sarah came down looking like she had been ready for hours. She even made Benni change into his casual clothes. 

“Can I have my hot cocoa now?” Benni asked and thanked Tony when he was handed his cup. 

James got up to get the rest of the eggs from the stove and bring it over to the table, putting some on Benni’s plate and then Sarah’s before sitting back down. 

“James, don’t you have some more clothes you should be putting on?” Sarah said, sitting down at the beside him. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, pulling him over so she could press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Perhaps,” he said and earned himself a stern look from Sarah who took a bite of her eggs and hummed in approval. 

“These are good but you know what would be even better?” 

“What would that be, _maya dorogaya_?” he asked with a cheeky grin. 

“Some toast. Be a dear,” she said sweetly, a grin just as wide and just as cheeky on her face as she reached over to pat his cheek twice. James chuckled, shaking his head, but he stood up and went to slice bread to put into the toaster. “Make enough for the lads, Jimmy.” 

“ _Sarah_ ,” he sighed and she laughed, feeling the heavy weight on her heart lift a little for the first time since coming to stay at James’. 

“So,” Sarah said later that afternoon as she came into the library, closing the doors behind her. James looked up from his desk, the phone pressed to his ear as Dmitri updated him. Sadly there wasn’t much in the update but they were still on the lookout. James’ police contacts had been unsuccessful lately as well and it was starting to give him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

She mouthed an apology and took a seat in front of his desk, crossing her legs gracefully and waiting for him to be done. 

He hung up and sat back, not worried about the documents on his desk not pertaining to Steve’s predicament for two reasons: one, Sarah did not care to know what business James was carrying out and two, even if she did, she could not read Cyrillic last he checked. 

“So?” 

“Tell me about him.” James gave her a careful smile and she waved his apprehensiveness away. “You’re my son too, James. There’s so much about your and Steven’s lives that I can’t know, at least tell me about the parts I can.” 

He smiled at that and his eyes fell to the book on his desk that he was slowly reading through. Sarah followed his gaze and reached up to grab it. 

“A new hobby?” She asked, so determined to get at least a little information on James’ fella. She opened the book, flicking through the pages, looking at the different gestures and their meanings. “Sign language?” 

“I had Dmitri pick it up for me the other day. My guy,” he said and felt the surge of emotions that sent through him, “his hearing was damaged in the war.” 

“How do you two communicate?” 

“Well, he’s not completely deaf. He uses hearing aids, which he likes, but I’d like to be able to talk to him even when he’s not wearing them.” 

“Like, say, when he’s waking up in the morning beside ya?” Sarah asked, a playful smile on her face and James laughed. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Oh come on, James. You’re killing me here. You know better than anyone I can keep a secret if that’s the issue here.” 

He let out a sigh. “I’m not ready yet for him to be a part of all this,” he told her honestly. 

“You mean your work or us?” He pursed his lips. “Ah, us then. I can understand why. Steven’s incredibly protective of you.” 

“Exactly,” James agreed with a nod. And that was ridiculous too. There was no reason why Steve should feel he needed to protect James, especially if the current situation were anything to go by. “I just want some more time just the two of us.” 

“You seem to care a lot about him.” 

“He’s the most precious person I’ve ever met,” he admitted, smiling. He ran a hand over his hair, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke. “He just inserted himself into my life and refused to leave. He’d show up, unannounced, here and bring food and alcohol.” Sarah snorted. 

“He sounds quite brave on top of also being precious. I know how you are about unexpected guests.” 

“Sarah, I tell you, he’s as close to perfect as they come. I look forward to introducing him to—“ 

“James,” Tony said, pushing open the doors to the living room, his face pale and voice shaky. 

James sat up straighter, as did Sarah. “What happened?” 

“Steve missed his call time.” 

James glanced at the clock. He’d lost track of time himself. 

He grabbed the phone and quickly dialed Steve’s home number. No answer. He tried his office next. No answer. Finally, he tried the phone in Steve’s car. 

“Steve,” he said when the phone was picked up. “Where are you? You missed your check-in.”

“Senator and fourth, one machine, one hand, protection’s down,” Steve said quickly and quietly, breathing hard. 

James already knew what was going on. He had been ambushed. “Five minutes.” He hung up and turned to Tony and Sarah, grabbing a gun from his desk drawer and tucking it into the inside of the jacket he put on, reaching down to dial Dmitri’s number. 

“Steve’s in trouble,” he said to Tony and Sarah. Dmitri picked up and James barked out, “ _Pick up. Now.”_ To Sarah and Tony he added, “I'll bring him home,” and he headed out the door. 

Dmitri dropped James off a block from where Steve had said in his phone call. He’d heard shots ring out and headed in that direction, on foot now. Dmitri insisted on coming with him but no, this was personal and therefore needed to be handled personally. No one hurt Steve Rogers on James’ watch.

James stalked around the corner, listening to Steve speak. His breathing was labored and he sounded exhausted. James stood at the end of the alley, Falsworth facing him but all his focus was on Steve and James went unnoticed. 

“What, you getting tired? I can do this all day,” Steve said, raising his fists. He was shaky on his feet and drenched in blood. 

James stalked forward, head down, his knuckles white with how hard he was gripping his own knife and the moment he saw Falsworth raise his arm again to inflict another wound on Steve, James whipped his arm out and his knife landed in securely in Falsworth’s shoulder sending him back. 

“You should talk less. You can’t murder someone with words,” James said, entering the alleyway further, cracking his neck and then his knuckles. As much as he wanted to torture Falsworth until he was crying and begging for forgiveness that James would never give, nothing was worth Steve having to suffer any longer. 

James did, however, get to enjoy watching Falsworth turn whiter than a sheet as James approached. 

“You have something that belongs to me and you hurt _someone_ who belongs to me,” James growled, low and steady. He held his hand out for the knife and Falsworth lifted his own knife in defense. James laughed humorlessly. “Come now, Falsworth, turn let me get my knife, make this a fair fight.” He gave him a smile known to unsettle men twice his size. 

“What? You think I was born yesterday? Now what’re you gonna do without your fancy knife?” He said this but James notes the way the hand holding the knife trembled. 

James’ smile grew wider. “You _must’ve_ been born yesterday if you think I only have one.” 

He moved closer, Falsworth swinging at him and James dodging easily. James grabbed him on a vicious headlock and stabbed him in his side with the second knife. He heard a clatter and saw Falsworth’s knife land on the asphalt. 

James got his other knife back, taking it out with a lot more ferocity than was strictly necessary but it was certainly more fun. 

He held it to Falsworth’s throat and leaned closer. “You lose,” he said and slit his throat, letting him drop to the ground. James stepped on him on his way to Steve, ignoring the sputtering he could hear. 

“Steve, Stevie, hey, hey, stay with me,” James said, his tone of voice going from acidic and deadly to worried and soft. He lightly tapped Steve’s face and relaxed when he noticed movement under his eyelids. 

Dmitri came into the alley then, a few men behind him. He was disobeying orders but he didn’t care. It had been too quiet for too long. James turned to him, telling Dmitri and his men to lift Steve, put him in the car and check on Dugan and Jones. 

They got Steve in the car and Dmitri sent Vitaly and Anatoly to check on Dugan and Jones and to call an ambulance. 

James sat in the back of the car while Dmitri drove them to the hospital, Steve’s head in his lap and he did his best to keep him awake, talking to him constantly. 

James’ heart was about to beat out of his chest. Every time Steve tried to open his eyes they would roll back into his head, blood trickling out of his mouth and from the stab wounds. James closed his eyes for a moment, a hand on the other side of Steve’s head. 

“ _Please live,”_ he whispered, feeling the stinging behind his eyes. James dabbed at the side of Steve’s mouth with his handkerchief, wiping the blood away. Steve mumbled something and James grabbed his hand, squeezing it but it went limp. 

“Oh, fuck. _Please, no,_ ” he pleaded, starting compressions despite the awkward angle he found himself in. It took a while—much too long—but he coughed, more blood coming up but at least his eyes fluttered and James could feel a pulse under his shaking fingers. “Steve, please,” James begged, “I can’t lose you. For so many reasons, I can’t.”

He couldn’t lose his best friend. He _would_ not. Oh, if he lost Steve—no, he wouldn’t even think about it. He would not lose him, he wasn’t going anywhere. He would be fine. He would live. 

James exhaled shakily. 

“We’re here,” Dmitri said, pulling into the driveway out front. There were men waiting outside with a gurney already. 

He was loaded on and quickly but carefully hauled inside, James walking at the head of the gurney and biting off the heads off anyone who tried to take over from him. 

While Steve was being prepared for surgery, James burst into the sanitizing room and the surgeons turned to look at him, deathly afraid. 

“If he doesn’t make it, neither will any of you,” he said darkly, the blade he’d just used on Falsworth in his hand, still tipped red. He looked at each of them in turn and then left to call Sarah.

Dmitri still stood in the doorway facing the surgeons, adding something before leaving as well. “I hope for your sake you know how serious he is.” 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint couldn’t keep a secret from Nat if his life depended on it, James gets a surprise visit and slowly everything goes back to normal.

**3 Days Earlier (Day 7)**

Clint drove home in a sort of daze. The rest of the evening had flown by. He wasn’t even sure what he had done at the bar. He remembered signing some document Phil pushed his way for something they needed a restock on. He remembered Mack and Fitz telling him some story about what they had gotten up to over the weekend at Coney Island and he remembered briefly talking to Sam Wilson who was there alone for once about… _something_. 

He turned left and headed down a smaller street, coming out of his thoughts long enough to look for a park. He pulled into one not too far from his apartment and turned off the car, sitting there, staring straight ahead but his eyes were unfocused as he relived the moment from earlier today. 

He licked his lips and he swore he could still taste him there even though it had been hours. He tasted like cigars and scotch. It was a taste Clint found almost as attractive as the man to whom it belonged. 

He closed his eyes and inhaled, letting it out quickly. Everything was so vivid in his mind. How James smelled, the warmth of his body pressed against Clint’s even through their clothes, his strong hands all over Clint, the way he looked at him. Those piercing blue eyes had been so focused on Clint he was sure a look alone would have been enough to get him as hot and bothered as he was then. 

Clint ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled, and got out of the car. He headed inside and found Natalia on the couch straddling Maria’s hips and kissing down her neck. Maria opened her eyes and looked over at Clint. 

“Hey, Barton,” she greeted him, her hands slipping down to Natalia’s hips. 

“Hill,” he said, tipping his chin up as a greeting. “I’d tell you guys to get a room but you’d probably just ignore me.” He decided to keep things normal. Ease Nat into the fact that he and James had been very passionately making out a few hours ago even though he had explicitly told Natalia he had no plans to act on how he felt. 

“First come, first serve,” Maria said, smirking over at him and Nat had yet to move away from her girlfriend’s neck in order to greet Clint. 

Clint snorted. “In that case, can’t wait to see who’s serving breakfast in the morning.” Maria chuckled and Natalia finally sat back, frustrated that Maria was distracted. She liked that her and Clint got along but she also wished they would ignore each other right now. 

“Clint, would you kindly get the hell out of the living room?” Natalia asked sweetly. 

“Hello to you too, Nat. Yeah, lemme just grab some food and I’ll hole up in my bedroom for the night. We should check apartment listings since apparently _you_ don’t have a bedroom,” he said, finding some leftover meatloaf in the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk to go with it. He didn’t even bother warming it up, just grabbed a fork and left, ignoring the glare he was getting from Nat. “You two have fun. Don’t do anything I would do!” He called as he stepped into his room and heard Maria snort again before he shut his door. 

He set his food down on his bedside table and started undressing without really thinking about it, focused instead on what he would do and what he would say the next time he saw James. He wasn’t sure. Would things be awkward? Did James regret it? Was it just a heat of the moment thing? He had said he was stressed. 

What if— _no,_ Clint thought. He wasn’t going to let himself overthink this into something he knew it wasn’t. James had said in no uncertain terms that he wanted Clint, only Clint. There was no logic in Clint telling himself he had meant anything else. But then again, when had logic and Clint Barton _ever_ been friends? 

He sighed, now in just his undershirt and boxers. He plopped down onto his bed and started eating his cold meatloaf, continuing to think about James. He’d done his best not to let his mind wander to what James might look like naked because he really didn’t want to have to sneak off to the employee bathroom, so he kept his mind focused on work or other aspects of a relationship with James. 

And that was the thing. That was how he knew he was in love with him. He didn’t just want James to fuck him six ways to Sunday, he also wanted to hold him and be held by him. He wanted James to lean back against him while Clint ran his fingers through his hair or traced patterns down his arms. He wanted to go to sleep curled up in his arms and wake up next to him, watch him sleep and kiss him awake. 

When he thought about James, he felt excited, giddy. Like he’d just remembered some amazing gift that he had waiting at home for him to open. When he thought about James, he was hard-pressed to remember why he had ever wanted to keep how he felt about him a secret. 

He took another bite, reaching over to take a sip of his milk. It was still hard to wrap his mind around the fact that only a few hours ago, he’d been pressed against a wall by James. Harder still was wrapping his mind around the fact that a few hours ago, he had had the tongue of the head of the Russian mafia in his mouth. Sometimes that slipped his mind. It had been at the forefront of it in the beginning. Every time he saw James at first, all he could think of was the word _mafia_ in bright, flashing lights. But in the last two months? 

Clint froze, a bite of meatloaf just at his lips. He met James in February. It was June now but it felt like it had been years. At least two but definitely not only _five months_ because now when he thought of James, _mafia_ was the last word that came to mind. Words at the forefront these days were more like _charming_ and _cunning_ and _too handsome for his own good_. 

He ate the bite of meatloaf, chewing slowly. He wondered, on the off chance that James did actually want a relationship, how it would work. How much of it would be sneaking around in the shadows for quick stolen kisses and touches? How— 

Again he cut himself off because if they were able to spend all the time together that they did now, why would that have to change? Maybe it could stay the same and they could just add kissing and fondling to the mix? He missed those spontaneous visits to James’ home, his various offices. He missed spending time together with him, even if it was in total silence. It was still shared silence.

Seeing Nat and Maria only made him miss James more. He wanted to sit on top of him like that and kiss him too. He wanted to touch him and be touched by him; feel James underneath him, in him. 

Clint shuddered, his stomach twisting, feeling warm at the thought. He was such a tall guy that people always expected him to be on top but he preferred receiving to giving and something told him James was not only the giving type but likely very good at it. He definitely didn’t seem like the submissive type, that was for sure. 

He remembered how hard James had been against him while they kissed. _Clint_ did that. _He_ turned James on. 

He leaned back on the bed, putting the food on his bedside table and closing his eyes as one hand snaked down his body to wrap his hand around himself and imagine it was James’ hand. He gave it a tug, a vivid mental picture of James’ piercing blue-grey eyes focused on him, and he bit back a moan. The apartment was not soundproof and while he didn’t know what Natalia and Maria were doing at that moment, he also really didn’t want to be heard. 

He had a hand clapped over his mouth so no noise would escape as his mind began creating fantasies, wondering what James would have done to Clint if he could’ve just kept his mouth shut. He shuddered at the thought and did his best to stay quiet. 

When Clint woke up, he was clean and changed into his pajamas but he only barely remembered doing any of that, his unfinished meatloaf and milk still sat on his bedside table. He squinted at his clock and read that it was nearly 6am. 

He dragged a hand down his face and sighed happily. He hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time. He listened—and then realized belatedly that he _could_ hear—for any sounds in the house. It was Tuesday morning, so Nat should be up soon. He removed his hearing aids and placed them on the bedside table too, rubbing his sore ears and closing his eyes for another few minutes. 

After those minutes were over, he finally sat up. His mouth tasted horrible. He’d gone to sleep so quickly afterwards, he hadn’t brushed his teeth. He understood, some days, why Natalia said he was disgusting. 

He dragged himself out of his bed and headed for the bathroom, scratching his head and yawning as he went. He figured he would shower after breakfast because he was starving now but he did brush his teeth and then, as he had just opened the door to go out, he paused, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

He took a half step back, the door still open, and tugged at the collar of his shirt and his eyes went wide when he saw the dark purple and red marks on his neck and collarbone left there by James. He swallowed dryly. 

“Hey, looks like I’m not the only one who had a good night,” Maria said as she passed and Clint turned when he noticed the movement, not sure what she said but he let go of the shirt so it would cover most of the love bites again. 

“Morning,” he said and she noted his lack of hearing aids and waved to him, then pointed to her own neck, then at Clint’s, and gave him a thumbs up. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Don’t tell Nat please.” 

Maria’s eyebrows raised and so did one corner of her mouth into a mischievous, lopsided grin. “I’m gonna tell her.” 

“Aw, Maria, no.” 

“Nat,” she called and Natalia came out of the bedroom looking photo shoot ready as always. 

“Clint’s got love bites.” 

“You no good tattling rat,” he said to her and she blew him a kiss and headed for the kitchen. 

Natalia came over and her eyes immediately zeroed in on the marks. 

She began signing to him. 

_Who did that_ , she asked. 

_Did what?_

_Clint_ , she signed, already annoyed. It was too early to be annoyed. Dammit, Clint. 

_These! Yeah, just a random guy at the bar. Caught me in the bathroom. He’s seen me around certain “establishments”, you know and—_

Her eyes widened and her face flushed red with anger. “ _James_.” It didn’t seem to be a question and he could tell by the set of her mouth just how irritated she was. When he didn’t respond, she smacked his arm and he yelped, Maria poking her head around the corner to see and then going back to making breakfast. “Clinton Francis Barton!” 

“What!” He responded aloud, doing his best to read her lips. He knew he was in trouble when she went for the full name. She never used his godawful full name. No one should! 

“What happened to not going to act on it? What happened to staying away from him until it was safe? What… _what happened_?” She finally asked and Clint pulled her into his room and closed the door. 

“Does Maria know about James?” he whispered. Natalia shook her head. 

“Well,” he said and then reached for his hearing aids because if she didn’t know, she didn’t need to know. Not yet at least. 

Once he could hear again, he explained quietly to her exactly what had happened. Well, not in as much detail as he had happily relived it last night but enough to satisfy her curiosity. 

“Clint,” she said in exasperation. “You have no idea how dangerous you going there could have been.” 

“Wait. You’re not mad we kissed?” 

“I’m,” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not thrilled about it but you’re a grown man and so is he. There’s only so much meddling I can do in your love life before it’s just sad. And… he’s not _that_ bad.” Clint narrowed his eyes, not sure if he was being insulted or not and also trying to process her admitting James was a fantastic person—‘not bad’ was Natalian for ‘I was wrong, he’s great’. “Look, I backed off James because it became apparent to me that he has feelings for you as well.” Clint’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“ _What,_ ” he snapped and Natalia simply shrugged her shoulders, completely unfazed by his tone. “You knew and you never said anything?” 

“You said you weren’t going to act on it. I knew telling you would only make that more difficult.” Clint huffed in irritation. “Are you sure you’re safe?” 

“One of James’ men followed me to the bar afterwards. I don’t think he knew I knew. I know him. He’s nice to me.” Clint felt the butterflies that statement unleashed in his stomach. To think that James was worried enough, he _cared_ enough, to spare one of his men during such a high-stress time to make sure Clint was well and truly safe. “If I was unsafe, I’m pretty sure James either would’ve told me or taken care of the threat already.” 

Nat thought about it for a moment, her hands on her hips. Clint was right. If he were in trouble, Natalia had no doubt in her mind that James wouldn’t immediately take action and eliminate the problem. 

“Trying to think of a reason why this is a bad idea?” 

“Oh no,” she said with a chuckle, “I’ve got a few of those. I’m just trying to think which one won’t end in us having a fight first thing in the morning.” Clint frowned. “My biggest issue is your safety.” 

“Nat, I told you. One of his guys, Alex or Anthony or I dunno, a _Russian-_ named dude followed me. I’m safe.” 

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” she said softly. She reached out and tapped his chest. Clint was incredibly sarcastic and blunt and always the first one to dive headfirst into ideas likely decreed by the mayor of stupid town himself, but he was also an incredibly soft-hearted man. She knew how much he cared for people and how every time someone needed something, he would nearly kill himself trying to help only to get the bare minimum in return. 

Clint snorted. “You’re worried about him breaking my heart?” Natalia nodded. “He might, yeah, but he also might not. And he might but then he could apologize and we forget about it and carry on. That’s the whole idea of relationships.” He had a point. 

“Okay,” she said, patting his chest with two simple pats. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m confused.” 

“ _How_?” 

“You’re just okay with it?” 

“I told you, Clint, you’re a grown man. I’ve said my piece to you and to him. I won’t ever stop trying to keep you safe but I do know that James has that as a priority as well.” 

Clint digested that for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Hm.” He looked at the ground, at Natalia’s tiny, socked feet. “I seriously thought I was going to have to ease you into this. I meant to spend last night preparing a speech but I knocked out.” 

“Well you can save the speech for the next insane thing you do,” she told him, giving him a smile and opening his door. Maria walked up to it and let them know breakfast was ready and delicious and they should hurry before it’s cold if they’re done with their top secret chat about Clint’s love life.

Natalia rolled her eyes but smiled and followed Maria into the kitchen, the smell of food making her and Clint’s stomachs growl loudly. 

  
  


**Present day**

Steve would live. He would be fine. James stopped listening after the doctor announced that, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. When he tuned back in to what the man was saying, he heard him list off Steve’s wounds. He was looking at a much longer stay in the hospital this time around. Not days but weeks. 

After hours of pacing outside the doors to the OR, hearing that he would be alright allowed everyone a breath of relief. Dugan and Jones were at the hospital as well with minor wounds—both were suffering from concussions and Dugan had a broken arm in addition to that and Jones had three cracked ribs but the important part was that they would be just fine. 

James had called Sarah the moment they arrived at the hospital with Steve and now the three of them—Benni had been left at home just in case Steve’s condition was too gruesome for him, not to mention it was very late. 

Steve did look pretty terrible but only James and the doctors saw the worst of it. By the time Steve was being brought out and into a room, he had been cleaned of most of the blood and was securely sutured and bandaged, though heavily sedated. He’d been in surgery for nearly five hours. It was a quarter past midnight. 

James had been the one who looked pretty gruesome when everyone got there. Dmitri had some blood on him from helping get Steve into the car but James was coated in it—Steve’s and Falsworth’s. The entire front of James was drenched in blood, it was streamed across his forehead from wiping away sweat while trying to desperately keep Steve alive in the backseat. 

Needless to say, he looked pretty terrifying and he could see that in the way Tony looked at him when they first arrived. Sarah hadn’t cared. She immediately ran up to him and he wrapped his arms around her, dirtying her lovely dress. 

In Steve’s room now, everyone could relax. Steve was right there in front of them, breathing, his heart beating, _alive._ Hearing he was fine was a completely different feeling to being able to see it for themselves. 

James immediately went over to Steve, pushing his hair away from his forehead and pressing a kiss there. He hesitated, still close to Steve as he spoke: “You better wake up, you jerk. You promised me till the end of the line.” 

He stood up, still running his fingers through Steve’s hair and Sarah came over to stand beside James and take Steve’s hand. Weirdly enough, Tony stayed where he was, just watching Steve. Maybe he still felt awkward about James and Steve. Maybe he didn’t believe James when he said he was happy for them. 

“James?” Tony called and he turned to look at him. “Are Dugan and Jones awake?” 

“Last I checked Dugan was, Jones was still out,” he told him, already turned back to Steve. He didn’t understand why but Tony left after receiving that information. Maybe he had a relationship with those two that James didn’t know about. 

Sarah and James watched Steve in silence, both of them experiencing a wave of comfort each time Steve’s chest rose and fell. James almost felt like his heartbeat had synced with Steve’s, his hand still on Steve’s head. 

“He close to them or something?” 

“More so Timothy, I believe,” she said, referring to Dugan. “But I think he left for our sake.” 

“Why would he—”

“He has an interesting perspective on things. I’m sure he left to give us time with Steven. He’ll be back in soon.” 

James nodded. While very considerate, it was also kind of strange. If it was Clint, no power on earth could have gotten him out of that room. The same for Dmitri. In fact, James was a meal away from assigning someone else as the food tester because he could not even begin to imagine anything happening to Dmitri. He was his family, like a younger brother. He had introduced him to Clint and James still had not properly thanked him for that. 

“James,” Sarah said, her voice low and James looked at her. Her head was still down, focused on Steve’s hand that she held between both of hers. Her long blond hair was tied up in a messy bun so unlike her and her jaw was set, making her look so much like Steve from the side. 

“Yes?” 

“He can’t bother us anymore, right?” 

James nodded. “The other boy was dead when I got there. Steve must’ve shot him. I did what I said I would. Falsworth won’t be bothering anyone anymore.” 

“Good. Let him rot in hell,” she growled. James removed his hand from Steve’s hair and stepped to the side to stand behind Sarah, his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed gently and felt her release some of the tension she was holding in her shoulders. 

“He’s safe now,” James reminded her, still massaging her shoulders. She leaned back against him, sighing. He felt a tremor run through her and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “ _Mamushka_ —”

She whirled around, releasing Steve’s hand momentarily to face James. She wasn’t sad, she was furious. Her eyes were rimmed red and shiny, a vein popping in her forehead. Her lips were a thin, angry line and she stabbed a finger into James’ chest. 

With Sarah, he let the surprise register on his face; raised eyebrows, wide eyes, mouth agape. He didn’t know where this was coming from, he didn’t know why but it definitely seemed directed at him. What did he do? 

“You’re _damn_ right I’m your mum,” she told him angrily. “I am not trying to replace yours but you are as good as my son, James.” She stopped. Took a breath. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she continued, “but I almost lost one son so let me tell you something, James, that I _dare_ you to forget.” 

He stared down at her, shocked that, for the first time in years, he felt intimidated by someone. He didn’t move a muscle, just listened quietly. 

“Don’t you _ever_ go radio silent like that on me again,” she told him, her eyes a bright, fierce blue. “You can give Steven the cold shoulder all day long but not me. You hear me?”

He nodded. He knew this had been slowly making its way to him; that Sarah would have something to say about his disappearance from their lives. He just never expected her to be _so_ upset about it. It was as touching as it was terrifying. 

He’d sent the flowers, let her know he just couldn’t be around them for the time being but he hadn’t thought— 

Plain and simple. He had not thought. Not enough and definitely not about Sarah, only about distancing himself from Steve. 

“Do you hear me, James?” she asked again, calmed a little but still angry. 

“Loud and clear. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” He watched her face, watched the hard lines begin to smooth out. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice just over a whisper. 

“I know,” she said, just as quietly, reaching up to pull him down to her height and press a kiss to his forehead. She let go and let out another deep sigh. “I just needed you to know. I needed you to know Steve’s not the only person in our home who loves you, misses you, _worries_ about you.” 

“I know you do. I’ve always known. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Sarah.” She squeezed his hand tightly. 

She turned slightly so she could take Steve’s hand as well. “It’s alright. _Now,_ that is.” She gave him one last pointed look, a smile on her lips. She squeezed both of their hands. “My boys are safe. That’s all that matters now.” 

While James and Sarah continued talking, Dmitri was heading down the hall quickly, carrying a tray of food from the hospital cafeteria. He had a little smile on his face despite limping from an injury he had sustained earlier in the week on the hunt from Falsworth. 

He turned into Dugan and Jones’ room, that same smile on his face because Dugan was fine. Jones as well, but he and Dugan had become very close friends over the last few years seeing as they were both their bosses’ right hand men. Dugan had a few years on Dmitri but never treated him as anything less than an equal, as a friend. 

“Oh look, there’s my room service,” he heard Dugan say as he came in to find Tony there talking to him. He sat the tray down on Dugan’s lap. “Thanks, _love.”_

Dmitri grinned. “Anytime, _dear._ ” He reached over to pat Dugan’s leg and then headed out to check on James and Sarah since Jones was still asleep. 

He knocked on the door and James and Sarah turned to him, giving him a smile. 

“You come here. I owe you a thank you hug and kiss as well,” Sarah said, letting go of James to hold out an arm for Dmitri who went over to accept Sarah’s gratefulness. 

They chatted for a while and then Steve stirred, his eyelashes fluttering and mouth opening. 

“Love, go grab Tony,” Sarah told Dmitri, grabbing Steve’s arm. “Steven, we’re here, pet.” 

Dmitri jogged across the hall and poked his head into Dugan’s room again, his eyes going briefly to Jones whose shoulders were shaking. It was obvious that he was crying and Dmitri didn’t understand why. He looked at Dugan who simply shook his head and then decided he would let Dugan handle it. 

“Steve’s waking up. Go now and you’ll be there before he opens his eyes.” He came over to the side of Dugan’s bed and pointed at the untouched food on his tray as Tony headed out of the room. “Eat.” 

“Dmitri?” Tony said and Dmitri turned around, just about to sit on the side of Dugan’s bed and irritate him into eating. “Could you look after Benni? Maybe pick him up?”

Dmitri was two seconds away from saying ‘later’ because he really just wanted to not be on his feet and catch up properly with Dugan but he also knew Benni must be scared all alone in James’ home. Dmitri gave Tony nod. 

“Of course.” Tony left and Dmitri turned back to Dugan once more. “I don’t want to see any food left on that tray when I get back.” 

“What if it’s on the floor instead?” 

“I’m not afraid to fight someone in a hospital bed,” Dmitri teased. “You want anything back?” 

“A hot pie from that place around the corner to yer bosses’ place.” 

“I’ll think about it. I could be bribed by someone eating their apple slices,” Dmitri told him as he left out and Dugan laughed. 

James watched Tony come flying into the room and straight to Steve’s bedside, grabbing his hand. Steve came to slowly, his eyes opening and fingers curling around Tony’s hand. He gave him a weak smile. That was the Steve he knew, already trying to reassure people no matter what state he was in. 

He and Tony spoke quietly while James and Sarah watched, just glad he was awake and speaking. Steve looked around the room, met the eyes of Sarah, of James. 

James zoned out, feeling like he weighed a ton. Maybe more. His muscles ached and his stomach growled quietly. There was a shooting pain behind his left eye that he was attributing to his sleep deprivation, looking at file after file in the middle of the night and constantly rereading Falsworth’s to try and understand him, predict his behavior and actions. It didn’t happen but let no one say he didn’t try. 

He needed a shower. A long, hot shower and maybe two days of sleep. They all needed that but James was just about running on fumes and missing Clint as much as he did certainly didn’t help. Good grief, all he wanted to do was collapse next to that man in bed, pull him into his arms and nod off for the next seventy-two hours. He would go see him soon. Preferably when he didn’t look like he was about to audition for a horror film as the monster. 

He rubbed his eyes and came back to the present. Just in time to answer Steve who couldn’t believe how much pain he was in over a stab wound. 

“Your surgery was complex. Took those idiots a few tries to get everything right,” James told him. Steve’s eyes fell to him and he smiled. “You’re safe now. It’s over.” 

“You got him?” James nodded, miming a throat cutting action. He noticed Steve’s eyes sweeping over him, no doubt wondering about all of the blood on him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You really don’t need to thank me for that.” 

“Dugan? And Jones?” Steve asked, looking at each of them. Again, so very Steve. Barely alive himself and desperate to make sure others were okay. 

“They’re fine. Minor wounds. They’re across the hall.” Steve sighed in relief. 

Sarah moved towards him and ran her fingers through his hair, standing on the other side of the bed to Tony. James remained at the foot. She kissed Steve’s hair. 

“Hey, ma,” he said softly, looking up at her with all the love a son could have for an adoring mother. 

“Hi, pet.” She pressed another gentle kiss to his hair. “I have a request. I need you not to worry about anyone but yourself for the next couple hours at least, alright?” James chuckled and Steve nodded. 

“Wait. Just one last one?” 

“Fine. But just one.” 

“Where’s Benni?” He asked, looking at Tony now. 

“On his way. Dmitri went to get him,” Tony said. James bristled at that, a spike of dread stabbing into his stomach that faded as quickly as it came. It was over. They were safe. Well, as safe as they ever were but there weren’t any people specifically trying to kill them so that was better than usual. Still, the idea of Dmitri out and about on his own just added to the tension James was still carrying around. 

Steve nodded in response to Tony and pointed to his morphine drip. Sarah grabbed it and pushed the little clicker twice and James watched carefully, more alert now. He watched Steve relax into his bed and close his eyes. 

James knew Steve was as strong as they come. He also knew this would take a toll on Steve. Steve didn’t care about his men finding out and being disgusted with him, he didn’t care about the attempts on his life—it came with the job. What James knew would get to him, what _was_ getting to him, was Falsworth. Someone he trusted, someone close to him, not only betraying him but wishing him dead. Falsworth no longer seeing any value in Steve’s life and disregarding their years of friendship all because Steve liked women _and_ men. 

James would keep a close eye on him. He knew Steve in a way no one else did. Not Tony, not even Sarah. It wasn’t about having previously been in love with him. It was about being his best friend since childhood. He knew there was a storm brewing behind that easy smile he was currently wearing and James would do whatever he could to help him through it. 

“I’m glad you’re all safe,” Steve mumbled. James laughed. 

“ _Idiot_ ,” he said lovingly in Russian, shaking his head. Steve smiled, glancing over at him. 

Dmitri came in a moment later with Benni and turned to James who felt the tension ease knowing he was safe again. 

“James,” he said and Sarah was shocked to hear him call him by his first name if the way she turned with her eyebrows raised was any indication. “Phone call,” he said in English and then added in Russian, _“He wants an update.”_

James felt something flutter in his chest, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so tired. He followed Dmitri out of the room and down the hallway. 

_“How did he know it was over?”_ James asked as they got into the elevator. 

_“A little birdie might have told him,”_ Dmitri said with a grin. _“I knew he was worried.”_

James nodded but didn’t add anything. He wondered what else Dmitri knew. 

It was a testament to just how tired he was that when he walked into his office he didn’t notice two things: one, that Dmitri was no longer with him and had in fact shut his office door and two, that Clint was standing in the middle of his office, his eyes wide as dinner plates and mouth dropped open. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” he swore, taking a tentative step towards him. James looked like he had been pelted with balloons filled with red paint. Most of it was dried but it was everywhere. His shirt, his face, his hair. It made his hair stick up and made him look a little wild, almost feral. There was a strange look in his eye that Clint couldn’t decipher and he took another tentative step. “Are you alright?”

James watched him, stunned into silence. Clint was here. Clint. His Clint. Nothing in the world would have made him happier than this. He met Clint halfway, his hands raising and Clint grabbed them and gave them a squeeze. 

“You’re here. Why are you here?” 

He didn’t seem hurt so Clint curbed his worries momentarily and gave James a crooked grin. “Do you not want me to be here? I can go if—”

“No,” James said immediately, his grip on Clint’s hands tightening. Clint felt his heart skip a beat. “You’re not going anywhere.” James was just about to close the space between them, heading straight for Clint’s lips, when Clint pulled one of his hands away and gently pressed it to James’ chest, stopping his advance. James looked confused. 

“You’re _covered_ in blood. I just—”

Before Clint could finish his suggestion—and honestly he wasn’t even sure what he was going to ask next—James was pulling away. For a split second, he worried that he had offended him and then that second passed and so did his misunderstanding. James didn’t even bother with the buttons, he just pulled the shirt off. The buttons popped off the shirt and fell to the floor with a soft clatter and he balled it up and tossed it into a corner. 

He looked down at his undershirt and saw the sizable stain there too and pulled it over his head and off in one swift motion that Clint found needlessly sexy. 

There was still blood on his trousers, his face and in his hair and slowly it was dawning on him that he might have to take a shower. He had a private bathroom and a change of clothes, so he could. 

But that would mean leaving Clint. 

Clint barely noticed the internal debate James was having as he was too focused on James’ shirtless torso. Clint was right—an incredibly nice body. Clint had never felt a stronger urge to want to lick something in his life —and believe you me, there had been strong urges before—but he just wanted to drag his tongue up James’ stomach, between his pectorals, to the dip in between his collarbones and back again. Hot damn. 

The only thing that pulled Clint out of his fantasy was when his eyes finally noticed that James’ skin wasn’t flawless. At least, not in the literal definition of the term, it was still flawless to Clint. 

He had scars all over him. Some Clint recognized as gunshot wounds, others were obvious stab wounds. James was turning around now, looking at the pile of clothes in the corner and thinking and Clint saw a small burn on his back. Nothing too serious but enough to change the texture of the skin and his left shoulder had a very large scar that dragged down to his elbow and looked like it had been extremely painful. 

When James turned back around, he frowned. “What’s wrong?” Clint didn’t even realize the face he was making and he did his best to smooth it out before James could connect the dots but he was a very intelligent man. “Oh. Comes with the territory, I suppose.” 

Clint could only imagine how he had gotten those. As far as he knew, James had never fought in the war. And he couldn’t even imagine how he had gotten the scar on his arm. Who on earth had managed to hurt James Romanov?

Clint didn’t comment further but instead changed the subject, figuring they could come back to that another day if James felt like talking about it. He pointed to the clothes James was now holding in a ball under his arm. “Gonna do the laundry?” 

“I’m gonna get cleaned up. Will you wait?” 

Clint snorted. “As if I have anywhere better to be.” James felt his face pull into a smile, one so genuine it almost hurt. He had been stuck in an almost perpetual scowl the last few days and Clint was exactly what the doctor ordered to correct a nasty case of scowl-face. 

“Just,” Clint began before James could open the door and leave. James turned. “Just tell me none of that blood is yours.” 

“I promise it’s not. I’m fine. Just tired. And I missed you.” He opened the door, told him he would be right back and Clint dropped onto the couch, trying to control those damn butterflies. James missed him. James felt the difference in Clint’s presence and his absence and he had a preference. 

_James missed him._

James took the quickest shower he possibly could, scrubbing at his skin furiously and then his hair next. He even made sure to clean thoroughly under his fingernails to be sure there were absolutely no traces of blood left on him. Once he could rinse off without the water turning even a soft pink, he figured he was good to get out and start drying off, so incredibly desperate to be back in his office with Clint. 

It came as a surprise and a relief that Dmitri obviously knew what was going on between James and Clint. He reminded himself to ask him at some point. He was curious to know what helped him realize. 

He left the dirty clothes in a hamper in the bathroom that he would collect later and take to his own home so it wouldn’t end up being washed along with the hospital laundry. 

In a fresh pair of pitch black trousers, a periwinkle shirt and black suspenders, he headed for his office, opening the door and making a beeline for Clint who was more than ready for his return. 

He sat down on the couch and slowly ended up on top of Clint, pushing him back until they were almost lying flat and James was kissing him. Clint was like a drug and all James needed was that one hit to know he couldn’t live without it. Clint tasted right and moved right and made the right sounds. He felt right under James and he smelled right. 

James moved to kiss his jaw and his neck, wanting to leave more marks. 

“Can’t believe you left marks on me,” Clint mumbled against his hair. James chuckled. 

“Did Natalia like them?” 

Clint pulled back, feigning shock. “ _You_ _ass_! You did that on purpose.” James just laughed more and Clint kissed the smile right off his face. Clint shifted positions, pushing James back so he could straddle his hips. James had that same rosy-cheek look as the last time Clint had seen him freshly showered but this time he could actually touch him and kiss him. It was amazing how innocent the reddened cheeks made him look. “She’s happy for us.” 

“Bullshit,” James said. “She said no such thing.” 

Clint laughed, his hands on James’ chest over the shirt he was wearing and it was really too many clothes. Now that he’d seen him shirtless, James in a shirt was nice but James without a shirt was _much_ better. 

“No, she didn’t,” Clint told him, unbuttoning his shirt until he could pull it open and get to his chest. James had opted out of the undershirt, likely knowing this was the plan. “But she did say we are adults and she doesn’t need to interfere.” 

“Hm,” James said, his hands on Clint’s thighs and he massaged them absently, his eyes focused on Clint’s face, following his movements. Clint looked up from his chest and met his eyes and James sighed softly, a blush moving up Clint’s neck. 

Clint rocked a little and James let out a quiet moan at the friction. “Hey, Clint?” He waited a pause until Clint’s eyes were on his. “Let’s stop talking about Natalia.” 

“Whaddya wanna talk about instead? Or no talking?” 

James wanted to do a lot of things to Clint and with Clint and for Clint but right now, the most pressing one on his mind was talking to him. “I’d like to talk,” he said and Clint sat back. 

“About?” 

“You and me. Us.” 

Clint moved off his lap to sit beside him, sideways on the couch with a leg tucked underneath him so he could face him. James gestured between them. “What do you think this is?” 

Clint’s eyebrows went up and his face warmed red again. _I think this is me stupidly in love with you and you probably not feeling the same,_ he thought. But what he said was: “Uh, I don’t—come on. That’s not fair asking me that.” 

James’ eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Just tell me what you think it is. Or what you want it to be. I promise there are no wrong answers.” Because if Clint just wanted to be friends who had sex, he would do that for Clint. If Clint wanted a relationship, it was his. If Clint needed time, he would give him that too. 

“I…” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally said, “I have feelings for you. I want—I want to be with you.” 

“A relationship?” Clint swallowed audibly and nodded. James smiled, reaching up to run his fingers through Clint’s dirty-blond hair. Clint felt another wave of warmth wash over him when James looked at him like that. Like he was beautiful. No one had ever looked at Clint like that. 

Like he was a screw up? Sure. Like he had just pissed them off? Definitely. Like seeing Clint for the last time would be the best day of their life? Oh, yeah. But like he was beautiful? That would be a first. 

James’ hand moved to Clint’s neck and he pulled him in for a kiss. He pulled back by only an inch or two, so close he could feel Clint’s exhale on his face and see just how deep ocean blue his eyes were. “I’m all yours.” 

Clint felt his breathing catch in his throat and his heart thud loudly in his chest. He was so close to telling James how he really felt but knew that wasn’t the best idea _and_ he had never actually told anyone that before. At least not the way he meant it towards James. 

“Really?” He heard himself ask but didn’t feel his lips form the word or the air leave his chest. The room was spinning a little and only James was still. Oh god, Clint was in deep shit. He was going to get himself hurt after all. Damn Nat for always being right. 

“Really,” James told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. “God, I missed you,” James said again after a minute of kissing and Clint wondered when the butterflies would find someone else to drive nuts. 

Clint smiled against his lips. “Missed you too.” He moved to James’ jaw, then to his neck. He bit down and then froze, leaning back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

James gave him a lazy smile and pulled him in again, directing Clint’s head to his neck. “Nothing to be sorry for. I told you I’m yours. Let everyone know I’m taken,” he mumbled and Clint felt that go straight to his stomach and lower. He accepted the offer, leaving marks low on James’ collarbone. He didn’t want them to be too obvious. Clint was, after all, the only person up here and people were bound to put two and two together. 

The last time James let anyone leave marks on him, it had been a quite pathetic attempt to make Steve jealous. Left there by one of the men who worked for him, whom he’d seen at his brothel often with other fellas. James had invited him to one of the most expensive rooms, told him he could leave marks if he wanted. The guy was only too eager to accept and James didn’t really care, he just wanted Steve to notice. It got sadder the more he thought about it but now he wanted Clint to leave marks for a different reason. 

For as long as Clint let him be, James was his. Completely and unreservedly. Clint made him so happy. In fact, Clint was happiness personified. He was like the warmth of the sun on your face on a cold day. He just wanted to lean into it, into him, let it embrace him and shield him from the cold, like sunshine. So James was only too eager for the world to know he was taken even if he couldn’t tell who it was that had him. Still, _he_ knew and he knew that a darkness like himself didn’t deserve the bright light that was Clint Barton but he was also too selfish to give him up. 

“When do you have to be at the bar?” 

Clint felt the vibration of James’ speech against his lips and pulled away from the particularly dark spot he had sucked an inch below his collarbone. He let go of his shirt, which covered it totally, and looked up at him. 

“It’s my bar. I kinda make the rules,” he said, kissing James again. His hand reached out to James’ trousers. “Why? Got some place to be?” 

James’ hands landed on top of Clint’s. He was so turned on it was definitely not funny and certainly not comfortable. “Clint.” Clint heard the difference in tone. “There are few things on earth I want more than to take you in every way I can think of,” he said, Clint shivering, “but I won’t have the first time be in my office.” 

Clint tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as he began to piece together what was happening. He assumed the stress and situation kept James and him from having a quick one in his office that day. Now that wasn’t the case. Was it just the office or… 

Clint smirked and James felt excitement bubble up inside him. Anytime Clint smirked he was looking forward to whatever came next. “James Romanov,” he began slowly, “deadly with any kind of projectile, wicked smart and… _a romantic?”_

James snorted. “Maybe I am. You aren’t?” There was no maybe. If James could, he would take Clint to dinner in every single restaurant in New York. Show him off to anyone who so much as glanced in their direction. He would bring him roses and buy him anything his heart desired—he would do that regardless though. He would treat Clint like a damn king. He deserved nothing less. 

“People like us don't often have the luxury of romanticism,” he said, his fingers walking along James’ leg and then sliding into the open hand that waited for him. “The privilege of taking our sweet time like other folks do. Too many prying eyes.” His gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers and then flickered back up to meet James’ eyes. “But you are?” 

“I am.” He leaned towards him. “I don’t like many people,” he continued, “so when I do, I want to do things right.” 

Clint watched him, followed his eyes. That was a lot of firsts for one day. The first time he’d ever been that happy to see someone, the first time he’d wanted to tell someone he loved them, the first time someone had said he was beautiful without even having to use any words and now this? The first time anyone had wanted to do things _right_ with him? 

He’d never been much of a romantic for all the reasons he listed but there was also the glaringly obvious reason too—no one he’d been with before had wanted that. He’d never truly had a real relationship. Just lots of hook-ups. He was pretty sure there was some kind of irony to be found in his first real relationship being with a mob boss. 

“And besides,” James added, his voice low and sultry, “I don’t want you trying to keep quiet the first time. I want to hear every sound you make. I want you to really enjoy it.” James brought the hand he was still holding up to his lips and kissed Clint’s knuckles. “This all okay with you?” 

Clint listened to him and then watched him, slowly moving closer to kiss James. James let himself be pushed back against the couch and Clint again came to straddle his waist, just kissing him, nothing else. God, he’d never felt so cared for. 

Clint pulled away and this time James made a noise of complaint and watched, curious, as Clint stood up and then dropped down to his knees. He scooted up until he was right in between James’ legs, his hands on his knees and eyes on the tenting of James’ trousers. He looked up at him. 

“Would it be incredibly unromantic of me to help my guy relax after a stressful week?” 

James chuckled weakly, his heart beating loudly, growing harder just watching the hungry way Clint was looking at him. James nodded, spreading his legs further and Clint unbuttoned his trousers and very easily pulled James out of his pants and slowly took him into his mouth. 

James couldn’t keep his head up, as much as he wanted to watch Clint. He managed to get a few looks in, which only made things more intense, and then his head dropped back again, not only because of how completely blissed out he was but also because he was still exhausted and desperate for sleep but he didn’t want to sleep because Clint was here. 

It was a while—and it made Clint even more excited—before James came. An impressively long time and Clint swallowed without a second thought. James was panting and seeing white, waves of pleasure still rocking through him as he rode out the high and Clint tucked him away in his trousers again. 

He reached down with what little strength he still had to pull Clint up and kiss him. Clint moved to James’ neck, kissing softly and then he paused and pulled back, having heard the steady, even breathing. He smiled and kissed James’ lips when he realized that he was asleep. 

Clint, ignoring his own needs because relaxing James enough to put him to sleep was all he cared about at the moment, laid down and pulled James with him, resting the man on his chest. James let out a sigh and then was out again. 

He must’ve been exhausted, Clint thought to himself, his fingers trailing gently over his back and then, Clint couldn’t say how long after, he fell asleep too, his arms curled around James. 

  
  


Dmitri knocked once and waited. He knocked again and waited but still no answer. He knew James cared for him but he wasn’t crazy enough to push his luck and find James’ limit of affection for him. He knocked a third time and when he got no answer, it worried him because he also didn’t hear anything happening in the room. 

Finally, he pushed the door open, a hand over his eyes and then he peeked through his fingers to see Clint and James on the couch together. James was asleep. As was Clint. 

Clint was lying down on the couch and James was lying on top of him, his head on Clint’s chest and arm curled protectively around his side. He was snoring lightly and quite clearly exhausted but Dmitri knew he would be more upset if Steve got himself hurt trying to walk around the hospital so soon after surgery. Dmitri wasn’t sure Tony would be able to get him back to his room in one piece. 

Dmitri cleared his throat and James stirred but didn’t wake. He did it again, louder, and James opened his eyes, looking over at Dmitri. He didn’t even move, didn’t try to pretend nothing was happening. He knew Dmitri must have figured out that something was going on between him and Clint or else he wouldn’t have left them alone. He would’ve stayed and also talked to Clint. 

“ _What?”_ James asked quietly, not wanting to wake Clint. He was so warm and comfortable. Clint was a perfect pillow and James didn’t even remember falling asleep. He remembered showering and talking. He remembered lots of talking and then he remembered Clint’s lips wrapped around him and that was it. Then just darkness. 

And now he was awake again. 

_“Steve’s out of bed.”_

_“What?”_ He asked again, this time with more force and Clint stirred. James gently pushed himself up, careful to avoid hurting Clint as he stood. _“What’s Tony doing?”_

_“He’s currently in the cafeteria getting him food. He got out of bed and came into Jones and Dugan’s room where I was. He’s got a little too much morphine in his system I think.”_

_“That little shit,”_ James said and straightened his shirt, tucking it in. He brushed his hair back with his fingers and headed out of the room, Dmitri on his heels and Clint still asleep. James stopped and turned to Dmitri. “ _Could you stay? In case he wakes up? Just let him know I’ll be back soon?”_

 _“Of course,”_ Dmitri said, happy to wait with his sleepy friend. 

James stalked downstairs, his usual irritation at Steve being a dumbass was written all over his face but it was paired with an extra bit of frustration because James was exhausted _and_ had to leave his extremely comfortable Clint. 

He found Tony in the cafeteria and updated him on the situation. Tony grabbed the food and went to pay and James scoffed and just waved him on to come with him. How insane. _Pay_ for something. In James’ hospital. 

They heard Steve before they saw him and then rounded a corner and his tall but wobbly frame came into view. He was leaned against the doorframe to Dugan and Jones’ room, laughing about something as they tried to get him back in bed. 

“Oh bloody hell, the police are coming,” Steve said, a goofy grin on his face and yes, Dmitri was right. He had had a little too much pain medicine. “Don’t yell, this is a hospital,” he said, slurring his words. James’ eyes slid to Tony who looked frustrated and worried. 

Tony went to hold open Steve’s door with the food in his hands while James slid up against Steve’s side to support some of his weight. 

James turned a deadly glare on Alexei and Anatoly who were supposed to be standing guard outside Steve’s bedroom. 

_“Why did you not stop him?”_

_“He threatened us. And then threatened to tell you we tried to hurt him,”_ Anatoly answered. James sighed but didn’t say anything else. Yeah, that probably wouldn’t have ended all that well either. 

Back in his bed, James checked Steve for any damage done to his stitches, unable to keep himself from comparing how different being tucked into Steve’s side was to Clint’s. He preferred Clint’s. It wasn’t quite as muscular but just as firm and impossibly warmer. 

Steve grinned while James looked him over and James just wanted to knock that stupid grin right off his face for more reasons than his much-needed nap being interrupted. He also knew that Steve had done this on purpose. That man was nothing if not aggravatingly calculated. Everything he did was worked out to the last detail so this? Being high on morphine? This was not an accident. 

Tony said something behind him but he didn’t hear it and didn’t care enough at the moment to ask him to repeat himself. 

“Do you want me to get a nurse or a doctor?” Tony asked. James wasn’t sure if he was asking him or Steve so he just waited, sure Steve would answer him. 

“I’d like a nurse, but I’ve already got two people checking me out,” Steve laughed. 

“Steve, shut up,” James snapped but he couldn’t help the tiniest hint of a smile because this was still his stupid best friend cracking innapropriate jokes. “Why can’t you be a good patient and sleep?” 

“‘M stubborn as an ass,” Steve continued to slur. James wondered just how much he had taken. He would ask a nurse to check. “That’s what ma says anyway,” Steve continued, reaching for Tony’s hand who stood on the other side of the bed now. James watched the interaction, intrigued by it. He’d never actually seen them interact romantically before. 

Tony placed a glass of water on Steve’s side table and then took his hand. 

“Don’t do it again, alright? I told you before and I’ll tell you again: I have no problem chaining you to this bed,” he said with a small smile. “I’d rather not have to do that,” he said, softer. It was sweet, the way he cared for Steve, the obvious amount of concern. 

“I have no problem with you chaining me to this bed,” Steve said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

James just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Steve tried to sit up and winced. “Okay, that hurt.” 

James sighed and then pointed at the water Steve was ignoring. “Drink.” 

Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes. “And eat while you’re at it. Not enough food plus drugs in your system can’t be good.” He brought the tray over and positioned it over Steve’s lap, placing the water on it along with some soup, half a sandwich and a fruit salad. “They said not too much at once.”

Steve started working on the sandwich, picking off small pieces and popping it into his mouth. It was obvious that Steve was still pretty doped up by the clumsy way he tore the bread off. 

In the meantime, James took Tony aside, far enough away that Steve couldn’t hear, and pretended like he was explaining something on Steve’s chart, keeping their backs to him. 

“Listen,” James began, knowing what was coming next. He would help Steve through this, he had made him that mental promise when he first woke up but now he thought it might be better if the help came from Tony. 

“There are three stages of Steve being drunk or under the influence of drugs,” he explained, knowing these details intimately. When Steve first came back from the war, he often drank a little too much and James was always the one there to look after him when it stopped being fun. 

“Funny Steve,” he continued, “Dirty Steve and Sad Steve. It’s why he normally has one or two glasses of whiskey and rarely more if you’ve noticed. He knows how he is. He probably did this on purpose.” He looked at Tony, trying to gauge his reaction. “Sad Steve is going to hit hard and it’s not going to be pretty. It always does, so now especially so. I can be here if you want, or I will let you handle it yourself. Up to you.”

“Love,” Steve called and James wanted to swear when both he _and_ Tony turned around to face him. “No, that one,” Steve said and pointed a shaky finger at Tony. He put a grape in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. “Want some fruit?” 

James sighed, worried. Steve had taken a _lot_. “He’ll be there in a minute, Stevie. I’m just explaining your medicine schedule,” James said patiently. 

He turned back and looked at Tony. “So?”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Tony said slowly, thinking. James watched his face.

“Alright,” James said, not confident in Tony’s ability but trusting his determination and how much he obviously loved Steve. 

“Is it over?” Tony asked suddenly. 

“Yes.” 

Tony smiled and let out a shaky breath, looking over at Steve who was still playing with his food. "That's your food. Be good and eat it," he told him with a small grin as he sat down on his bed. 

“I’ll be back in to check on you later, Stevie,” James said, giving him one last worried look and then a nod at Tony before leaving. 

James headed back upstairs, stopping only when he heard someone call out his name. He turned and took a step back, peeking in Jones and Dugan’s room. 

“Winter,” Dugan repeated and James’ eyes focused on the man in the bed. He stepped into the room. Jones was asleep. James nodded towards Jones with his chin and Dugan knew what he was asking. “He’s holding together alright. It hurts.” 

James nodded to show his understanding. He couldn’t even begin to imagine if Steve betrayed anyone James cared about. “Did you need anything?” 

“I just wanted to thank you.” 

James laughed humorlessly and Dugan tilted his head to the side in confusion, waiting for an explanation. “You don’t need to thank me.” 

“No, I do. You shouldn’t have had to save us too. Even less, have us up here in this posh room and—”

“Dugan,” James said firmly and Dugan stopped talking immediately. Sometimes James loved having the ability to make anyone quiet in an instant, now he almost wanted Dugan to keep talking like Steve did. He would worry he was going soft but the truth was, he was never that ruthless with the people he cared about. “I’ve known you almost a decade. You and Dmitri have saved our lives more times than either of us care to count. You _don’t_ owe me an apology and I’ve told you enough times—it’s _James_.” 

Dugan chuckled. “You know what they say about old habits. I still call him Cap, ya know. But fine, I’ll stop thanking you.” 

“Perfect. I’ll send your husband back down in a moment. He’s just taking care of something for me,” James said with a grin and Dugan grinned right back. 

“Tell him to bring me some cake from the cafeteria,” he added. James nodded and left, a smile still on his face. He remembered the first time he’d teasingly called Dmitri his husband. Dugan had gone all red in the face and started sputtering, saying he was courting some dame. Now he laughed and teased as easily as the others did, comfortable. 

When he got back upstairs Dmitri was flipping through a book, sitting at Clint’s feet. Clint was still asleep and James sighed and pressed a kiss to his temple. Clint still didn’t wake but Dmitri watched. 

“Can’t believe I was right,” Dmitri said.

“What about?” James asked, going over to his desk to pick up his book on ASL. 

“You and him. I can never quite read your face or how you feel,” he admitted. 

“Never?” James asked in genuine surprise. He wrote Clint a note and sat it on the table in front of him. “I always thought you did pretty well.” 

Dmitri hummed, processing that. Maybe he was better at it than he thought. “Everything okay? Downstairs?” James sighed. “Ah. Should I stay with Clint?” 

“No. Dugan’s waiting on a slice of cake,” he told him and Dmitri laughed. “He’ll see the note.” He ran his fingers through Clint’s hair and turned to Dmitri, curious. “Did you think this would happen?” 

Dmitri’s answering laugh was louder than before but Clint’s hearing aids were out now and he didn’t wake one bit. Natalia told him he always woke with sore ears because he’d sleep with them in so Dmitri had taken them out. “Not at all. Some fun, maybe. A friend but, uh.” He stopped, looking up at James. “Would it be wrong or inappropriate of me to say you have feelings for him?” 

“Not at all.” Dmitri’s eyes widened a little and he slowly nodded, standing. James moved his hand away from Clint’s hair and let out a soft sigh. “Thank you.” 

“For?” 

“For bringing him into my life.” 

James and Dmitri headed back downstairs. Dmitri to Dugan with a slice of cake and two forks and James went to Steve’s room, shooing Alexei and Anatoly away for the time being to sit outside and read his book. He could hear Tony talking to Steve. Sounded like Steve was entering the maudlin phase of his high. He didn’t want the guards to hear that. That was too personal. What Steve said when he was in a state like that was for no one’s ears but those close to him. 

James opened his book and turned to the last chapter he had been reading about greetings. He felt confident with the alphabet already. 

At one point Tony came out, seeming a little on edge, a little worse for wear but managing. James expected no less so when Tony told him he could go, that he didn’t need James there, James snapped at him because he knew it would give Tony the fiery push he needed to get back in there and definitely prove James wrong. 

He left a while later when things calmed down and Steve slept. He checked on Clint who was still sleeping before heading back down to see how Steve was doing. James couldn’t help but wonder how tired Clint must have been to still be out cold. Maybe Clint had been worried about him. 

When Steve woke again and seemed fine, James called Alexei and Anatoly back and left to go back to his office until someone needed him. It was almost 5pm and James didn’t want him to miss work, although Clint should know he would never have to work another day in his life if he so decided. 

He sat down beside him and gently shook his shoulder. Clint shifted to lay on his back but didn’t wake. James chuckled. He shook his shoulder again and Clint groaned. 

“Why?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. He threw his arm across his face and sighed. “Five more minutes.” 

James leaned over him and kissed him, slow and deliberate. Clint opened his mouth for him, moving his hand. It seemed he had forgotten where he was. 

He sat up as James moved back, trying to keep from breaking the kiss and when it broke anyway, he licked his lips and gave James the most beautiful crooked smile he had ever seen. James handed him his hearing aids and once it was in and working he spoke. 

“Morning. Or rather, evening.” 

“Evening? What time is it?” 

“Almost five-thirty.” 

Clint looked around the office and then settled on James, a softness to his eyes that made James want to pick Clint up in his arms and never let him go. “You look a little better. How long you been up?” He reached out and put his hand on James’ cheek, stroking his thumb across his sharp cheekbones. James placed his hand over Clint’s and turned his face to press a kiss to the inside of his palm. 

“Couple hours. Had a little issue downstairs.” 

“Rogers okay?” James nodded. “You okay?” 

“I could use another day or two of sleep, a decent meal and a lot more of you,” he said, leaning forward to kiss Clint again and then pulled back. He cracked his neck and sighed, closing his eyes for a second and when he opened them, Clint was pulling him into his arms. “What’re you—”

“You know,” he began, still pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him tightly, “I was a sharpshooter in the army for more reasons than my unbelievably excellent aim.” James let out a chuckle. “Also because I notice things.” 

James let himself be held, relaxing gradually. He let his chin sink into Clint’s shoulder and then wrapped his arms around Clint as well. 

“When’s the last time you got a hug?” James opened his mouth to cite the greeting hugs he gave Clint and Natalia or perhaps the comforting hug he had given Sarah but Clint continued talking. “ _Got_. As in someone gave one to you, not the other way around. Has anyone even comforted you yet? Apart from me?” 

James managed a snort. It wasn’t as full force as he intended but it was recognizable. “Comforted me?” he asked as though it was completely unreasonable. 

“Yeah, you. The guy who’s been worried out of his skull about his best friend. The same fella he is in love with—”

“Was,” James corrected firmly and Clint noted it but continued. 

“—and you’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged trying to track this monster down and then… did Dmitri tell me correctly? You killed him?” 

Clint paid attention and he noted the toll these things had been taking on James. A toll he himself hadn’t even really noticed. And he was right. It had been a lot. James had even acknowledged that he needed a break and some rest. He reassured Steve, comforted and reassured Tony and Benni and Sarah but he hadn’t realized until now that he hasn’t taken much of a break for himself. 

James buried his face into the space between Clint’s neck and his shoulder and let out an exhale from so deep down inside him he thought he might collapse onto the couch if it weren’t for Clint’s strong arms holding him up. He felt the rest of the tension he was holding start to go out of him. He felt his shoulders relax. Clint pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“There you go,” Clint said softly, feeling James’ arms raise to wrap around him just as tightly. He gently rubbed his hand and up down James’ back and James closed his eyes. 

There was a knock and James turned his head to face the door but didn’t move away from Clint. Dmitri poked his head in. 

“Aw, what a sight,” Dmitri said, grinning. James snorted. “Sarah’s here with the little one and they brought food. They want to eat in Steve’s room. I’m supposed to bring you down and plates.” 

James sighed and pulled back, kissing Clint and Dmitri smiled. “Should I go?” Clint asked. 

“Did you… I don’t think this is the best circumstance for me to introduce the family to my guy,” James said. Clint felt his smile widen and his heart flutter. 

“Yeah, definitely another time. Can’t wait to make a terrible first impression,” Clint laughed and James did too. Clint did make absolutely terrible first impressions. 

“Walk down with us?” James asked and Clint nodded. 

They went downstairs and Dmitri grabbed some dishware from the cafeteria, the other two waiting and talking before they all headed down the hallway and James paused outside Steve’s room, still out of sight of the people in the room. 

James felt a flash of red hot fury at the fact that he couldn’t hold Clint’s hand or kiss him. He didn’t even feel comfortable hugging him, not with his men in the hallway. He lifted his hand to sign the letters ‘K-I-S-S’ and gave him a smile. 

“That’s not fair,” Clint said quietly, feeling a stinging behind his eyes that he logically knew was tears but he couldn’t get it to click in his brain that something James had done was so considerate, so thoughtful, that Clint was tearing up. James was learning sign language for him. “How fucking dare you just spring on me that you’re learning to sign for me and I have to leave and can’t even kiss that stupid grin off your face. You know what? You’re _rude,_ Romanov.” 

James barked out an unexpected laugh and Dmitri was chuckling, shaking his head. 

“Wasn’t my intention,” he told him with a grin and Clint scoffed in mock offense.

“You want a ride?” Dmitri asked. Clint shook his head. 

“I know my way home, I don’t need a ride. But thanks, pal,” Clint told him, reaching out to pat Dmitri’s shoulder. Clint gave James one last longing look and then headed for the elevators. 

_“You really like him, huh?”_ Dmitri asked. 

James just smiled but didn’t answer. If he was going to tell anyone how he felt about Clint it was going to be Clint. At least, he would be the first person to hear it. 

Dmitri and James walked into Steve’s room where he was surrounded by his people. Dugan and Jones were up and talking, Sarah and Benni were opening the food containers, and Tony, as always, was by his side 

“Hello, maya dorogaya,” James said to Sarah, kissing her cheek. She kissed his as well and then raised her eyebrows as she pulled back, indicating to the hallway with her chin. James nodded and her expression seemed impressed. She must’ve seen him. Who wouldn’t be impressed with how Clint looked?

Benni waved at him and James waved back, Dmitri handing out plates and James went over to help set up Steve’s bed tray, watching Steve’s face. Seeing the familiar look of frustration, not with anyone in the room but with himself. For being injured, for being unable to help them. 

James gave him a look and Steve matched it. He knew that in a ‘who can be the most stubborn’ competition, Steve would win. Hands down. But he also knew Steve wouldn’t want him bringing this up to Sarah, which James had no qualms about doing if it meant Steve would be reminded that he wasn’t inferior because he was human and got hurt like humans do. 

When Steve finally gave in, he switched topics, imitating his mother’s actions and asking about the mystery man in the hallway. 

“Tell you another time,” he said quietly and then moved away from the bed so Sarah could serve him some food. 

Benni and Sarah shared a couch on which James and Dmitri perched on the arms, Dugan and Jones across on their own couch and Tony on the bed beside Steve. It felt nice, familial even, but not quite perfect. Perfect would be having Clint leaned against him, making some inappropriate joke. Even Natalia needed to be there, glaring at James, he thought to himself with a smile. 

“Anyone want to suggest some party games?” Dugan asked after a while of silence. Sarah’s food was too good for talking. A laugh went around the room and Benni spoke up, suggesting a game and that got another round of chuckles. 

  
  


+

  
  


James, of course, gave everyone unrestricted access to Steve but Tony was the only one who really took advantage of that, spending nights in his room, curled up beside him until finally Steve told him to go home and get a proper night’s rest in a bed big enough to fit him. Steve barely fit in the hospital bed and as petit as Tony was, it couldn’t be comfortable. 

They’d packed up their things and moved back into the Rogers home a few days after Steve’s surgery and now James was back to his big empty home. 

Well, not quite _empty_. Dmitri had moved in permanently to the second floor room and James had only barely kept himself from offering for Clint to move in. It was too soon. But he _would_ ask. 

For now, he was just bitter because Clint’s job and a few work-related obligations James had had recently had kept them apart but tonight Clint was coming over and, yes, James wanted to have sex with him but he would honestly be happy just holding him. It had been three days and that was three days too long already. 

James had the house cleaned and had made the bed himself. He took all the things Clint left in his guest room and moved them into James’ bedroom, into their own drawer. 

He was cooking dinner when he heard the door open and turned to see Clint and Dmitri. 

In his home, James could do as he pleased and that had never mattered more to him than it did right at that moment. He dropped the wooden spoon he was stirring the sauce with and took long, quick strides until he practically ran into Clint, pushing him against the nearest wall and kissing him breathless. 

“Hello to you too,” Dmitri said sarcastically after being completely ignored. He went over to taste the sauce while those two caught up. 

James finally pulled back away from Clint’s mouth and smiled, his hands coming up to hold his face. “Hello,” he said quietly and Clint grinned and kissed him again. 

“Hi.” Clint pulled him into a tight hug and James accepted it easily, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped in Clint’s arms. He sighed. All was good with the world because Clint was home. 

They ate quickly and then Dmitri disappeared, claiming to have plans to visit Dugan at home and he really did. They were going to drink, play cards and maybe smoke a cigar or two. Nothing fancy but Dmitri was just happy to have his friend back in his life with no immediate danger following either of them. 

Clint and James, on the other hand, were having a different kind of night. James had Clint pressed against the wall outside his room, unable to make it very many steps without kissing and touching him. Clint tripped as he tried to slide them sideways towards where he assumed the bedroom was, realizing a moment too late that he didn’t actually know, and James laughed as he caught him, taking his hand and leading him inside. 

He kicked the door shut behind him and then was coming out of his clothes quickly, Clint doing the same. Shirts flew into the air and landed somewhere, same with shoes and socks until they were both in just their underwear and even that was too much. 

James pushed Clint backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto it, scooting into the middle and James followed, climbing on top of him, kissing down his neck, his chest, his stomach. He tugged at Clint’s underwear and Clint raised his hips up enough for James to tug them off. 

James looked up at Clint’s naked body under him and then froze. He hadn’t expected him to be quite that beautiful. He ran his hands over the muscles of his stomach and then down his hips and thighs. God, he loved those legs. 

He came back up and then reached out and stroked him and Clint gasped loudly, arching his back up, his toes curling and fingers gripping the sheets. 

James removed his own underwear, stretching over Clint to open his bedside drawer and remove a bottle of oil. 

James shook a few drops out onto his hand and reached down. Clint opened his legs obligingly, licking his lips, and James’ finger slid until it was right at Clint’s entrance. He circled it for a moment, teasing and Clint moaned. 

“Come on, please,” he begged and James gave him what he wanted. He slipped his slicked up finger inside of him. Clint tensed only momentarily at the invasion, at the slight pressure, and then he relaxed. After a moment, James slipped in another, leaning down to press and suck kisses onto the Clint’s thighs. 

After a while, James pulled his fingers out. Clint couldn’t say how many had gone in him. Looking down and seeing James between his legs was enough for him to lose touch with reality a couple minutes into the second finger. 

James put some more oil on his own aching and neglected erection and then lined himself up with Clint and slid in slowly, watching Clint’s face. He wasn’t sure how long it had been for him and hurting Clint wasn’t the _last_ thing James wanted to do, it wasn’t even on the list. 

“You okay?” He asked, halfway inside of Clint, holding onto his thighs that he had lifted up to rest over his shoulders. 

Clint huffed but nodded. “More please,” he said happily and James laughed and slid all the way in until he totally disappeared inside of him. He looked down and just knew he was not going to last that long. Clint was driving him crazy in all the right ways. Clint was panting, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so entirely filled up by James, by the dizzying pressure. 

James began to move slowly, rocking into him and Clint let out a little noise with every move. James’ movements quickened and he reached up and gave Clint a few tugs and Clint moaned loudly. 

“Fuck,” James breathed, admiring the way Clint felt, hot and hard, in his hand, loving the way he sounded. 

“Oh,” Clint squeaked, when James pushed into him harder. “Harder,” he told him and James did as Clint asked, speeding up and thrusting harder until Clint was practically bobbing up and down. James stroked him a few more times. “Oh, fuck, James,” he moaned. Hearing his own name coming out of Clint’s mouth while he was so blissed out on pleasure was doing something wonderful to James. 

James changed the angle, thrusted into him harder, both hands holding onto his thighs now, sure to leave marks in the morning. Clint moaned along with the thrusts and James did too. 

“God, Clint,” he said breathlessly, watching Clint’s eyes roll back in his head, wishing he could kiss that pretty mouth of his that was wide open as he continued to let James know how good of a job he was doing. 

“Oh fuck, oh, James, I—” Clint’s back arched and then he cried out as he spilled all over himself and James watched, mesmerized, still thrusting rhthymically but not far behind. Seeing Clint coming, hearing him like that because of something James was doing was enough. It pushed James over the edge and then he was coming inside him and Clint continued to moan with the continued sensations, the waves of pleasure. 

James was almost doubled over Clint as he rode out his own climax, still thrusting lazily into him before sliding out and falling beside him, panting. He rolled and pressed a kiss to Clint’s head once he had caught his breath. 

“Still okay?” 

“Okay? Am I _okay?”_ Clint laughed. “Stupid question for such a smart fella.” James grinned and got out of bed to grab a towel and clean them both up and once that was done, he climbed back into the bed and pulled Clint close. The extreme amount of skin contact was almost more intimate than the sex and very nearly as nice. 

He pressed a kiss to Clint’s hair and Clint rested his cheek against James’ chest, running his hands over his back soothingly and if Clint wasn’t careful he would definitely fall asleep. 

“You want to be on top next time?” James asked after a few moments of no sound but their breathing and the rain outside. Clint woke up at the question, shocked to have been asked it. 

“Are you really asking me that? I mean, if I said yes, you would—” 

“I would let you.” 

Clint huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Wow but no. I liked being right where I was.” 

“Okay,” James said quietly, pressing another kiss to his head, this time his forehead. “Worth the wait?” He asked after another lengthy silence. He had never cared much what others thought about his performance, save for Steve who he knew enjoyed it. With others, he never stayed long enough to ask even if he did care but with Clint? James found that he cared about every single thought and opinion Clint Barton had. 

“You keep asking stupid questions. Are you sick?” James laughed and then went quiet again so Clint decided to give him an answer. He tilted his head back enough so he could lift it to kiss James. “I’m very grateful right now that my guy is a romantic sap who wanted to wait and fuck me proper-like.” 

James smiled at first and then made a face, rolling his eyes. “You are so far from romantic it’s hilarious.” 

“I can do romance. Just watch this.” He cleared his throat. “James, you have beautiful eyes.” 

James waited. “Is that it?” 

“Is that— _is that it_? What kinda question is that? Was that not romantic?” James didn’t say anything, just chewed his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Fine, let’s hear yours, Shakespeare.” 

James gave him another smile, different from the last. This one was softer and so were his eyes. Clint almost felt overwhelmed by the amount of raw emotion he could actually see in James’ eyes that was currently being directed at him. 

He reached up and touched his hand to Clint’s cheek, running his thumb across it, his expression only softening and Clint, once again, almost told James he loved him. 

“ _Solnyshko_ ,” James said softly, staring into Clint’s eyes. James’ heart was racing a mile a minute and he was surprised his hand hadn’t shaken yet but Clint asked for romantic and James would deliver. He would always give Clint what he wanted, no matter how small or frivolous the request. “That’s what you are. My _solnyshko_.” 

Clint didn’t know what it meant but that sure as hell didn’t stop him from wanting to curl up in James’ arms and never ever move again. 

“What’s that?” he asked quietly, not trusting his voice to be steady if he spoke louder. 

“Sunshine.” 

If the world suddenly ground to a halt and everything froze except for the two of them, then that was exactly what would happen when James spoke. 

“I…” He couldn’t even think of anything to say, neither funny nor serious. His brain had also come to an immediate stop. “Sunshine?” Clint squeaked and there was that damn traitorous stinging behind his eyes again. 

James’ hand slid up into Clint's hair and he combed through it, letting out a small sigh and then dropped his hand down to grab Clint’s and give it a squeeze. “Yes, sunshine. _My_ sunshine.” 

“What? How? Why?” he asked. 

“You make me feel warm, alive, comforted. Sometimes _too_ hot,” he teased and Clint smiled. “You’re always there. Even when I can’t see you or when you’re far away, it doesn't change the fact that you exist and you’re just somewhere providing someone else with that sunlight.” Clint swallowed. He leaned in to kiss Clint, just a simple press of lips on lips. “My _solnyshko_.” 

Clint blinked a few times and then his mouth was opening and words were coming out on their own without his permission. 

“I love you.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all real talk. This is a WIP and all I mean by that is it might be 12 chapters, it might be 14. I tried to set a goal but I’m an artiste *throws glitter* and my creativity can’t be restrained. Jk, I just have an inkling it might be more than 12 chapters but I’ll keep you updated on that


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three little words are harder to get out than James thought. Clint has doubts, Phil should probably learn how to knock, and Loki's biting off wayyy more than he can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people, I am very sincerely sorry for how long this fic has gone without being updated but as i promised somewhere in the notes of a previous chapter, I will never just abandon a fic and if I do then I was probably hacked or something. 
> 
> "radnoy" in Russian means something equivalent to "my dear" but in a more familial sense. If I am wrong, correct me. I don't speak Russian. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, the song "Until The Hurting Is Gone" by Billy Raffoul loosely inspired this chapter and will probably inspire future chapters. 
> 
> Also, a special thanks to two lovelies who commented during my stupid, writer's block-induced hiatus. You know who you are and I appreciate you so much.

  
  


Clint couldn’t get it out of his head that he had made a mistake. No matter how hard he tried. It had been a week since he’d been overwhelmed with emotion, lost all of his impulse control, and confessed to James that he loved him. 

The first few days afterwards, Clint had debated back and forth with himself about the truthfulness of it but he kept coming back to the same conclusion. He _was_ in love with James. No two ways about it. And that was fine. That was alright. James said it himself, it wasn’t too soon or too much. So why did Clint have a problem with it? 

Because James didn’t say it back. 

A part of Clint knew he didn’t feel the same way, which was why he had been so careful about keeping it to himself. He’d seen the urgency and the fear when Steve Rogers’ car had pulled up. He’d seen the way James dropped everything and everyone to help him. Clint knew he didn’t stand a chance against whatever it was James still felt for Steve. He just knew it. 

And it hurt him, oh, it crushed his goddamn spirit, but Clint wasn’t stupid. He knew there was a likelihood of it. James had been so miserable when they met, so broken over Steve, that Clint knew it would take some time to work through. The less rational part of him had just hoped that that time had already passed and James really was Clint’s. 

James was a sweetheart though. More than he gave himself credit for because he hadn’t just straight up told Clint: “I don’t feel the same way.” He explained himself. And he looked genuinely sad that he couldn’t repeat the words to Clint, so that counted for something, right?

He told him that he did care for him, he did have feelings for him, but he couldn’t say it back. He didn’t _want_ to say it was love if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of it, didn’t want to lie to him. He told Clint that he deserved certainty and Clint wondered absently in that moment if James was trying to say he deserved someone else. He hoped not because Clint didn’t want anyone else. 

Try as he might, because he knew there was no one to be mad at but himself, he couldn’t shake his mood. He had been short with everyone lately and Natalia, for once, had let him. She didn’t set him straight or snap back. She understood and could tell that this hurt him deeply. 

He even avoided James, claiming to be too busy to come over. He knew it was stupid because how would James ever love him if he never saw him but he just didn’t have the energy to go see him these days. All he could think was ‘I’m not Steve.’ 

“Everything okay?” Phil asked and Clint jumped. He was leaning on a stack of peanut boxes that had just been delivered. He looked over at the clock. He’d been there, stuck in his head, for almost twenty minutes. 

“Uh,” he said, moving away from them and looking for anything that he could claim to have been doing, “yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“Tired, huh?” Clint nodded. “You sure?” 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Just, um… just made a mistake.” 

“Wanna tell me about it? I finished unpacking that other delivery and we don’t need peanuts just yet.” He indicated with his head towards the front and Clint accepted, following him back out of the stockroom. 

They sat in a booth near the bar. It was empty seeing as it was almost ten in the morning. Phil made them both a coffee and came back over. 

“So what’s on your mind?” 

“Relationship troubles.” 

“Oh no,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Didn’t even know you were in one.” 

“Yeah. It’s new. Still feeling things out. I got ahead of myself.” 

“And what? Asked him to move in?” 

“No, worse.” Phil sucked in a sharp breath. “I know, _I know_ . It's just— _ugh._ ” His head fell down onto the table with a loud thud. “I keep fucking up, Phil. All the time. And I really like this one.” 

“I can tell.” 

“Not really in a joking mood.” 

“So what happened? He run off?” 

“No, he just… doesn’t agree.” 

“So... what? He just wants something casual?” 

“No, he told me,” Clint began and then wondered about that too, not finishing his sentence. James had told Clint to tell him what he thought it was. To decide. Maybe Clint’s decision wasn’t what James actually wanted. Maybe he didn’t _want_ a relationship. He just wanted Clint around. 

“He told you what?” 

“He told me,” he began again and didn't finish the thought. “You know what, I don’t really wanna talk about it. Thanks though, Phil. Let’s just forget it happened. I’m sure he’ll end it soon enough now that I got stupid and fell for him.” Clint pushed up from the table and left his coffee untouched, heading towards the front door. “Just gonna go for a walk,” he said, heading out.

  
  


James hit Sasha with a right cross and Sasha readjusted his footing to compensate for this powerful blow even though James was aiming for the pads on his hands. He followed it with a left jab that Sasha was anticipating and yet it still stung his hand. 

James threw out two more quick jabs and Sasha caught them again in the pads but just barely. Sasha was getting tired. James had been at this all morning, throwing punch after tireless, angry punch and kick after kick. Sasha did not usually talk to James during their sessions more than to perhaps recommend a stance improvement or tighten up his swing but today he was almost tempted to ask his boss what was wrong. 

A lot was wrong. A whole fucking lot. 

What the hell was wrong with James? Why couldn’t he tell Clint something better than _I am not sure right now_? Clint deserved something better than that and he knew it. 

Clint told James he _loved him_. Those were words James had never heard in a romantic context. At least not sincerely. Sure, plenty of people he slept with had been in the habit of professing their love for him either during or after sex. Of course none of them meant it. James knew those people had assumed he didn’t want real love. That he just wanted someone cooking his meals and in his bed when he came home. James would rather come home to an empty house. When it really came down to it, a house full of people who didn’t care for him and an empty one were the same thing. 

But Clint _did_ love him—James saw it in his face and heard it in his voice—and James had fucked it up because he wasn’t _sure_! What an absolute idiot!

He swung out and almost missed the pads, almost hit Sasha in the ribs again, but thankfully the trainer jumped away in time to avoid it. He let out a relieved sigh and lowered the pads. 

_“Perhaps… Perhaps we stop?”_ Sasha said tentatively. James always ended the session not the other way around. 

James stared at him for a moment and Sasha slowly raised his padded hands again, averting his gaze away from James’ angry, piercing one. James dragged a hand down his sweaty face and sighed. 

_“Yes. Let’s end it. Thank you,”_ he told him, turning and jumping down out of the boxing ring. He was unwinding the tape around his hands as he headed for the stairs. They would take him the back way to his office so he could shower and change. 

He took the stairs slowly in silence, debating his choices and the repercussions of his words. He hadn’t seen Clint in a few days. He had been busy. Or so he said. James didn’t really believe it. He wasn’t sure if Clint regretted saying it or if he hadn’t meant to. Either way, he was avoiding James and James hoped he wouldn’t lose him. 

He stopped on the steps, leaning against the wall and covering his face with his hands, groaning loudly into them. The sound echoed but it was muffled enough that it wouldn’t alarm anyone. He let his hands fall to his sides and looked up at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he just tell him? 

James did care for him. _So_ much. A frankly terrifying amount. He would not have done half the things he had if that were not the case. His feelings for Steve barely even registered anymore. They were a tiny, dying voice at the back of his mind so why could he not bring himself to say it back? Why did he have to look Clint in the eye and tell him something he really didn’t want to hear?

He kept going upstairs as he worked on finding a solution. 

_“Are you okay?”_ Dmitri asked once James came into his office, now freshly showered. He was sitting on the couch by the bookshelf and looked up when he heard the door open. 

James grunted a response and hung up his jacket, coming to sit at his desk with a graceless plop into his chair. He leaned back and shut his eyes, sighing. _“No.”_

_“Want to talk about it?”_

_“No.”_

_“Is it about Clint?”_

_“No.”_

_“Haven’t seen him in a whi—”_

_“Dmitri!”_ James roared, slamming his fist on the desk. Dmitri froze, silent, watching James with wide eyes. James stayed tense another few seconds before he sighed again, shutting his eyes. _“I do not want to talk about it.”_

  
  


The hardest part of Clint avoiding him was the empty bed. In all honesty, every part was the hardest part but after that night he was sure his bed wouldn’t be empty anymore. Not every night at least. But it was. And it was his fault. Just like it was his fault for waiting so long with Steve, now it was his fault for having the opportunity right there in his face, practically served to him on a beautiful, blue eyed platter, and yet James hadn’t taken it and held on and refused to let go. He hadn’t taken it at all. 

What the hell was he doing? Did he _want_ to be alone forever? Because it seemed like it, what with all the stupid choices he was making. He had him. Right there in his bed, in his arms, they were happy and smiling and James just couldn’t follow through.

He thought about going to the hospital. Talking to Steve. Maybe just sitting there while he slept to see if he felt anything. Maybe if he longed for Steve once he got there he would begin to understand. Maybe his feelings for Steve weren’t gone. Maybe he just thought they were. Was that why he couldn’t say it? 

It didn’t sit right with him. If it was still about Steve, James didn’t think he could have slept with Clint. Not with Steve on his mind. But the fact of the matter was that he did sleep with him. He brought him home, cooked him dinner and then had some of the best sex he had had in years. The kind that only came with genuine passion, with a connection. It wasn’t just about James getting off, he wanted to make sure Clint enjoyed every last second, down to the most minuscule detail. It mattered. 

Maybe he _should_ talk to Steve. Steve may have been somewhat of a bumbling dumbass when it came to his own love life but he always gave surprisingly solid advice. Though, James couldn’t even think what he would ask him. He wasn’t sure where to start. What was he supposed to say to Steve about all of this? _Hey, Steve, so someone told me they loved me but I’m still so fucked up from what happened with you that saying it back scared the shit out of me?_

He sat up. So that was it. 

He was scared. 

One person, one gone wrong, and he was _scared_ to let it happen again? Really? That seemed awfully out of character for him and who he was but then again, this wasn’t just another mob boss or low level gangster he was dealing with. This was a broken heart. He couldn’t _fight_ a broken heart. 

He didn’t blame Steve but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still hurt by what happened. It didn’t mean he hadn’t walked away from the Rogers household that day with his heart shattered into a million pieces. Just because he didn’t blame Steve didn’t mean it wasn’t one of the worst feelings he had ever experienced. Heartbreak was an evil son of a bitch and James was scared of going through it again with Clint because he knew it would be worse. He wasn’t sure how but he just knew. 

But just because he was scared of getting hurt didn’t mean Clint didn’t deserve to know. 

  
  


+

  
  


“Stop,” Nat said, picking up a pillow and whacking Clint with it, “moping!” 

“Ow! Nat, come on! Go away,” he grumbled, swatting at her and lying down on the couch again, his knees pulled up to his chest as he watched _another_ episode of _The Ed Sullivan Show._ This one marked his eleventh episode and Natalia had had about all she could take. He put another piece of candy in his mouth. 

“Did you break up?” 

“No.” 

“Did you fight?” 

“No.” 

“Then why are you here and not with him? Why are you binge watching that stupid show on our couch in the middle of the afternoon?” She sat down with him, forcing him to make space for her and she made herself comfortable, leaning her back against his stomach. “Clint.” 

“I told him I loved him.” 

“What? Really? Did you mean it?” Clint nodded miserably. “And he didn’t say it back? Or worse?” Natalia was shocked. She couldn’t believe Clint had actually told him that. He was so careful with his feelings, so much more guarded than he made himself out to be. James must have been doing something right if he got Clint to admit that. That is, until he did whatever he did to hurt him now. 

“Told me he’s not sure that’s how he feels.” 

“Maybe he just needs time, Clint.” She took his hand in hers. “You’re the one he poured his heart out to about his last relationship. Did it sound like something he could just get over and jump right into a new one overnight?” He shook his head. “Maybe, because James is still just a human, maybe he’s worried about a repeat. Did you ever think about that? What was that?” 

“No,” Clint said more clearly, reluctantly. He hadn’t thought about that. At all. He just assumed James didn’t feel the same. That he never would. “But it doesn’t make what I think wrong either.” 

“And what do you think?” 

“That he doesn’t want me. Not like that. Not emotionally.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

“Nat, could you just _try_ to be nice? I know it’s hard, seeing as you were raised by evil Russian spies and all but—”

“Don’t be stupid,” she repeated emphatically and he looked over at her but she continued, “if he didn’t want you like that, he never would have opened up to you. You think he calls me up to talk ex-loves? You think he calls me _sunshine_?” 

“No, but you did try to stab him that one time.” 

“And he told me I wasn’t the first friend to do so, so what’s your point?” Clint huffed. “Clint, why don’t you go talk to him? He’s obviously trying to respect you and give you your space. Go let him know you don’t want space.” 

Clint grumbled but didn’t move. He didn’t want to. He did. Well, he wanted to see James but he didn’t want to see him if he might possibly be told that he was right, that James didn’t want him that way. 

“If you won’t do that, at least take a bath and go to work. If Phil calls asking about you one more time,” she finished, deciding to leave the threat open. She looked over at Clint. He was staring blankly at the ceiling and it worried her. She reached over and touched his cheek. “Come on,” she said more gently, patting his cheek softly. 

She stood and grabbed his hands, pulling him up. Once he was on his feet, she slowly moved forward to wrap her arms around him and after a moment he hugged her back. 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

“See? I can be nice.” 

“‘Can’ being the key word here,” he complained but there was a tiny smile on his lips. 

They made it to the bathroom and Nat was running Clint some warm water while he leaned against the doorframe in just his trousers, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Nat,” he said, and she turned to look at him, her fingers dipped in the water, testing the temperature. When she turned to him, her expression was soft and her eyes kind. He knew he must have looked like a kicked puppy if she was looking at him like that. “I really do love him.” 

“Then talk to him, _radnoy_.” 

“I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You’ll know.” 

“How?” 

“Trust me, you’ll know. Just go see him. Come on, the water’s ready. You’ll feel better.” 

She came over to him and reached up, touching his cheek again and giving him a reassuring smile. He tilted his head when prompted and she pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked out. 

  
  


James refused to let fear control him. He refused to miss out on what could be one of the best things in his life because he was scared. Clint was worth too much for that. Clint deserved more than James’ fear-induced uncertainty. He deserved the truth because James knew it. He had known it all along and now he was going to tell Clint.

He was walking down the street. He tried to tell Dmitri he needed to do this on his own but the younger man wouldn’t back down. Dmitri was either going with him or he wasn’t going. They compromised and Dmitri walked a few feet behind him. 

He went to the address he had been given and he walked up to the stairs, finding the name he wanted and ringing the bell. 

_“_ Barton household, who’s there? _”_ Natalia said on the other end. 

“James,” he said but Natalia didn’t buzz him up. 

_“He’s not here. He just left,”_ she told him, switching to Russian and out of, James noticed, a perfect American accent. 

_“Please, Natalia. Where did he go?”_

James straightened his tie and jacket, feeling nervous but Natalia told him where to go so surely that meant something. But what if Clint no longer wanted to hear what he had to say?

He put on his hat and headed inside. It was packed for a Thursday at 5pm, lots of noise and music that was just a click louder than the chorus of voices. He spotted Clint easily. He was at the bar standing directly under one of the lights washing out a glass, laughing at something one of the patrons had said to him. 

James felt his heart skip a beat, his lips pulling into a relieved smile at the sight of that man and the joy he so easily created. He stood at the door a moment, just watching him. Seeing that wide grin spread across his face, laugh lines around his mouth. James still couldn’t believe that man loved him. 

James sat at one of the booths nearer to the entrance, his back to the bar. Dmitri took a table a short ways away. It didn’t take long for one of the servers to come over and ask what James would like. He recognized him as the bartender who had made his drink one of the first times he had come to the _Hawkeye._ Fred or Phil, perhaps. 

“Evening, sir, what can I get for you?” the man asked without looking up from his pen and paper. 

“Clint makes me something special,” he said with a smile and at the sound of his voice, all deep and just barely tinged with an accent here and there, Phil looked up at him and James saw the recognition flash in his eyes, “and I’m not exactly sure what it’s called. Could you send him over?” 

Phil maintained his calm and collected attitude and asked, “And who may I say is asking for him?” 

“A friend.” 

Phil nodded and took off for the bar. 

Even now, weeks later, James didn’t understand how or why Clint loved him. Even now he wondered if it had been a heat of the moment thing and Clint hadn’t intended to say it so soon. Or at all. Maybe that was the real reason he had been avoiding him. He didn’t want James getting the wrong idea. If that was the case, James was about to make a huge mistake but he was too determined to back down now. 

James waited for Clint to come over, going over the same reasoning he had the last few nights. As far as James’ one-night stands were concerned, they were just that. He hadn’t indulged any of them, following the same rules as Steve and never spending a night with the same person twice. And since 1940, the year he and Steve broke up, he _hadn’t_ slept with the same person twice and he hadn’t brought anyone home since then either. He and Clint had slept together only twice before Clint stopped visiting but he hadn’t wished for anyone like he did Clint. 

He hadn’t felt how he felt in years. Not since Steve. But that wasn’t accurate. He’d never felt for _anyone_ else the way he did for Clint. The love he felt for Steve was like someone gradually adding wood to embers until it was a roaring fire. It started as nothing more than a childhood friendship and developed into more in their early teens when Steve kissed James one night and then after almost giving himself an asthma attack worrying James would hate him, James kissed him back, and from there it had grown. 

With Clint it was different. James was not a trusting man. Less so did he develop feelings for people quickly. It usually took a while. Even with Dmitri. He had been impressed by his loyalty and know-how but it had taken Dmitri several months to warm up to James and at least two years before James was including him in his personal life beyond what was necessary. 

But Clint? Clint had grabbed James’ attention from the start. He had piqued his interest and never lost it. If Steve was a slowly growing bonfire, Clint was someone setting everything around James on fire bit by bit until he was surrounded by a wall of flames as high as he could see. A forest fire, raging and uncontrollable. It wasn’t all of a sudden but fast enough that it surprised him and was impossible to ignore. 

He _loved_ him. 

“I’m not sure,” he heard and his heart skipped a beat, “that I make anyone anything special—oh. Hey. I, uh. You’re here,” Clint said, uncomfortable. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked away from him, to the table. He couldn’t look in his eyes because he didn’t know what he saw and he just wasn’t quite ready to be told James did not want him. After his and Natalia’s talk, he had considered going to see him to settle things once and for all but his courage was short-lived and he assumed that if James wanted to see him, he would send Dmitri. Now he was here in person and Clint was blind-sided by it and didn’t know how to feel but if he released any of the tension he was holding in his body, he might just tear up. 

James felt a wave of dread wash over him. Maybe he had lost him. Maybe he was too slow again. _Not again_ , kept replaying in his head, his chest aching and throat dry. He wanted to take Clint’s hand and pull him down but he was well-aware of how public their setting was. Clint glanced around and James followed his gaze. Maybe James’ presence was making the others uncomfortable. Maybe he wanted him and Dmitri to go. 

James slid out of the booth and grabbed his hat, his fingers moving along the rim. “I should have called,” James said quietly and flexed his jaw, his eyes stinging as he prepared himself to leave. 

“You know you don’t have to call,” Clint said and James glanced up at him. Clint’s expression softened, mild shock on his features as well. “Let’s talk in my office.” Because Clint was confused. Why did James sound like that? Was this about to be a breakup? Did something happen? 

Clint glanced over at Dmitri who lifted his drink and decided to stay outside, knowing the conversation was private even if he didn’t know what it was about. 

Clint led James to the back, James following behind him, his hat tipped low casting shadows over his face and rendering him unrecognizable to the few people who glanced their way. 

He held open the door to his private office, the same one he and James had first been properly introduced in months ago. James went in and turned immediately to see Clint, letting his emotions register on his face now that they were alone. He didn’t care if Clint saw him sad or hurt. It was Clint and he had every right to know how James was feeling if he wanted to know. 

“Clint—”

“I’m sorry,” Clint said immediately and James went silent, patiently waiting because he was so very confused. Clint shuffled nervously, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. I was just hurt and more than a little nervous that I had just ruined everything and I—” 

“No, no, no. _God, no_ , Clint. You didn’t ruin anything,” James said, suddenly in his space, holding his hands. He stared into James’ eyes, chewing his bottom lip. James let go and reached up to hold Clint’s face, taking in a deep breath to calm himself as he said, “I was scared. I _am_ scared but you mean so much to me.” 

Clint’s eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “You were scared? _You_? Of what?” He had an idea but he also still found it difficult to imagine James scared of anything. 

“Getting over Steve,” James began slowly, “was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. For weeks it… it just hurt so fucking much. I don’t know if I was scared of going through it again so soon or because I know that how I feel for you is different and would hurt even more but… I just couldn’t get it out. I _wanted_ to say it though. I just couldn’t.” 

Clint was watching his face carefully, trying to keep his breathing even. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It never even came into my mind. I was so concerned about myself but—wait.” He licked his lips, trying to help the question slide out easily. “Did—do you still want to say it?”

James nodded. “Do you?” 

Clint nodded. “Would you?”

“I love you, Clint.” Clint felt James’ hands tremble in his and he squeezed them reassuringly. “I do. I mean it _._ ” 

“I love you too.” A smile spread across Clint’s face and then James’ too. James leaned in to kiss him and Clint pulled him into a tight hug, a hand coming up to hold him by the back of his head. James closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the comforting smell of Clint. Clint rubbed his back with his other hand and apologized again. “I just never would’ve thought anything could scared you.” 

“Nothing scares me more than the thought of losing you,” he admitted quietly. Clint tightened his hold on him and James did the same. “Clint, I don’t… I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I want you to know that.” He pulled away to see his face and kiss him. “Will you come home tonight?” 

“Home?” 

James didn’t correct himself or stutter like Clint would have because there was nothing to correct. He watched Clint’s face, searching for any giveaways as to how he was feeling, his gaze as steady and intense as ever. 

“Your place?” 

“ _Our_ place. If you want it to be.” 

“You asking me to move in?” James nodded and reached into his waistcoat pocket to pull out a set of keys and hold them up in front of Clint. 

Clint buried his face in the space between James’ neck and shoulder, breathing out unsteadily and wrapping his arms around him again. James hugged him back, a hand coming up to his neck and scratching lightly, smiling. “Is that a yes?” 

“I don’t think I could manage a convincing no if I tried. I mean have you seen my—”

The door opened. 

“So things are better now, I assume?” Phil said. 

James was moving before Clint could even register it, his back to Clint, one arm held out protectively and the other raised, a familiar click ringing out loudly in the suddenly silent room as James pointed a gun at Phil. The blood drained from Phil’s face and he held his hands up, frozen on the spot. 

“Clint,” James said, his voice low and dangerous. He didn’t turn his head away from Phil but he reached back until his hand found Clint’s arm and he squeezed it reassuringly. 

“Phil, close the door. James,” Clint said, and Phil did, kicking backwards to shut it with his foot. Clint lowered his voice and put his hand on James’ side. “Sweetheart, drop the gun.” 

The shock of hearing Clint use a pet name distracted James and his gaze moved away from Phil, his expression softening but his arm never lowered. 

“Thought you didn’t like guns,” Clint added as an afterthought, lifting his arm to gently push James’ down but he didn’t let him take it. He uncocked it but kept it in his hand. 

“Doesn't mean I don’t carry one,” he said, eyeing Clint out of the corner of his eye as he made his way around James to stand between him and Phil. Phil dropped his arms. 

“Phil’s fine. He’s one of us and he knows about me,” Clint explained to James who didn’t look very convinced. “Besides, he guessed I liked you before you even did.” Phil snorted and James’ eyes went back to him, silencing him. “James.” 

“You trust him?” 

“Like you trust Dmitri.” 

“So you know who I am,” James said, addressing Phil. 

“Yep.” 

“And you don’t care?” 

“No, nor would I stand to gain anything from outing you even if I did care. Your secret’s safe with me.” Phil seemed like he had dealt with an intimidating person or two in his life. James wondered absently what his story was but didn’t dwell on it, there were more important matters to deal with first. “And no disrespect, sir, or to you either, Clint, but a man of your stature doesn’t just one day decide he’s going to start frequenting a bar like this without good reason.” 

“He’s right. You and those shiny shoes of yours don’t belong here, Romanov. We don’t even serve caviar. Want some peanuts? You ever eaten those before?” Clint teased, trying to ease the tension, moving closer to him and James released some of the tension he was holding in. He did his best to fight the smile but in the end he lost and he could see the smugness in Clint’s eyes. James holstered the gun. 

Phil smiled. Of course Clint Barton could make a mob boss laugh. Of course Clint Barton would be the one to end up going out with one. 

“So, I just came in to tell you Wilson was asking for you.” 

A sudden surge of jealousy moved through James and he had the strongest urge to grab Clint and hold on because who was Wilson and why was he asking for his Clint? Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Clint had only been his for a couple months and had in fact had many people in his life before James but since James didn’t like to think back to before he had Clint, none of that counted. Clint was _his_. And Natalia’s. 

“He’s just a usual,” Clint said, looking over at James and seeing the change in his expression. He sure as hell couldn’t read every microscopic change in James’ face but he knew anger and annoyance pretty well just from all the time he spent at his office with him. “Probably just wanted to talk sports.” 

“He does. He started blabbering to me about the Dodger’s latest blunder. That’s your world, not mine,” Phil told him. “If I may, I do have some customers to tend to.” He was looking at James, no sarcasm in his voice. James glanced up at Clint for final say so. 

“Yeah, go on. I’ll be out in a minute.” Phil headed out, leaning against the door for a moment to calm his racing heart and catch his breath before going back to the main room. He might have looked calm but that was terrifying. Why couldn’t Clint make non-scary friends? First Natalia and now James Romanov? Phil shook his head lightly. 

“Only Clint,” Phil mumbled, walking away. 

“You alright?” Clint asked James now that the door was shut. 

“Me? I’m fine. Are you?” He took Clint’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 

“You didn’t _seem_ fine. He’s not going to tell anyone about you, I prom—”

“Not worried about me. Just you,” he repeated, pulling him back into his arms and pressing a kiss to his lips. Clint tilted his head down and touched their foreheads together. James inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. 

It felt surreal to Clint that James loved him. Not that he and James had sex or made out but that he _loved_ him. He looked at Clint and thought ‘that’s the one I want.’ Clint knew he was going to struggle with that fact but he also knew James would make a point of making sure he knew it. 

“Are you sure?” James asked and Clint furrowed his brow in confusion, tilting his head to the side. 

“What? I don’t—”

“About me. About how you feel about me. Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Clint… you and I both know what kind of man I am.” 

“Sexy?” 

James laughed unexpectedly, smiling up at Clint but it faded a moment later. “I am not a good person, Clint. I do a lot of bad.” 

“I could easily argue that what you do keeps a lot worse from happening. Like that drug.” 

James noted that but continued. “Sometimes the bad I do is just because I want to, not for any greater good.” James had a few unbreakable rules, a few lines he never crossed, but for the most part, he didn’t have a code. Not like Steve did. When he needed to be, he was as ruthless as the rumors said of him. 

“Well,” Clint said, “everyone needs a hobby.” James searched his face carefully but his expression never wavered. “One day you’ll get it through that thick, gorgeous skull of yours that I do not care about all of that. I just want you.” 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Clint said and watched the way James’ eyes lit up. He would make it his purpose in life to keep those eyes like that as much as he could. And he would fight the next person to make James feel the need to ask Clint ‘are you sure.’ James was worth and deserved every bit of love Clint had to give him. 

“Feels like it’s been weeks.” 

“Since we were together?” 

James nodded. “Since we spoke. Since I saw you. I miss having you around. I miss eating with you.” 

Clint snorted. It should have been the most unattractive sound but James felt his heart skip a beat and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was head over heels for him. 

“Jesus,” Clint said, “what would I have done if you weren’t into fellas?” 

“I’m sure you could have changed my mind.” 

Clint made a noise James didn’t really know how to describe and then pulled James close, kissing him hard. “I’m the boss around here and I say my work day is _over_. Let’s go home,” he said. 

  
  
  


“Will Natalia be alright?” James asked later after he and Clint had spent a few hours making up for lost time. 

Clint snorted, his head on James’ chest, his eyes closed. “Her and Maria will be happy to have me out of their hair. Trust me.” James grinned. 

James’ fingers were trailing lightly up and down his arm, slowly putting Clint to sleep. Clint felt like there were anvils tied to his eyelids. He rolled, not ready to sleep yet and looked over at a photograph on the bookshelf.

When he squinted, he could just make out James and someone he assumed was his mother. She was the spitting image of him just a little smaller. 

“Where was that taken?” he asked, pointing to the photograph. 

James turned his head. “Lyon, France.” 

“France,” Clint repeated quietly. “Always wanted to see Europe. Without, you know, the killing.” 

James pressed a kiss to Clint’s messy hair and held it there. Clint sometimes drifted into silent but painful memories whenever the war was brought up. He hadn’t told James that but James saw it in his face and in his slightly diminished bubbliness. It was the same look he knew from Steve’s eyes, that thousand yard stare. “I’ll take you there. Wherever you want to go for however long,” he promised him, speaking against his hair. 

Clint tilted his head back to look at James upside down. James smiled and kissed his forehead. “Really?” 

“Clint, anything you want, it’s yours.” He kissed his forehead again gently. “Anything. I mean that.” 

“This is my first time dating a rich fella, could you give me some categories? It’s a little overwhelming.” 

James laughed. “When do you want to go to France? I have a house in the countryside.” 

“What? Why do you just have a house in France?” 

“My mother bought it. She always loved France—the landscape, the culture, the people. She made Anna and I learn the language. We spent a lot of summers there, the four of us,” he explained, faint, happy memories flickering through his mind. “I inherited everything.” 

“Have you been back since?” he asked, his tone softer now, sympathetic, as he moved to lie snugly against James’ side. 

“A few times. It’s peaceful. Just a small village. No one knows me there as anyone other than ‘that nice family’s son.’ It’s refreshing not being known.” 

“Sounds it,” Clint agreed, chewing his bottom lip. “Wish I could’ve met them.” 

“I’ll take you there.” 

“No, I meant your family.” 

“Ah. Me too.” He was quiet for a moment and Clint watched his face as James stared forward at the back of the bedroom door. He wondered if he had overstepped but he also knew that James would tell him if he had. “Though it’s probably for the best,” he finally added, breaking his silence and looking over at Clint with a sad expression, his eyebrows drawn together and eyes more grey than blue. “They wouldn’t have approved. Except for Anna. She knew.” 

“She did?” He nodded. “How come?” 

“Caught Steve and me once. We made her promise not to tell but she said she didn’t care. She was just disgusted that we were kissing because she said she never wanted to have to see me kiss anyone,” James told him, smiling at the memory of his little sister. “My parents didn’t agree with people like us. Especially not my father. My mother perhaps could have been swayed.” 

He wrapped his arm around Clint, lining their arms up and lacing their fingers together, James’ palm over the back of Clint’s hand. He looked at their hands for a moment, the difference not as striking as he assumed. Clint’s hands were nicely tanned like the rest of him, large, and scarred. Likely from the war and whatever he had to do to survive up until now. 

James’ hands were the same only slightly paler. He turned Clint’s hand over to look at the palm, see the lines there and then a poorly healed scar caught his attention. It went down the length of the skin beneath Clint’s pinky. James let go to trace it. 

“Well, then I wish I could’ve met Anna.” 

“Me too,” James said, much more quietly than the first time and Clint knew he had struck a chord. James didn’t talk often about his family. He had told Clint what happened to them, he occasionally told a story that featured them but usually only briefly. Clint wondered how much it still hurt. It was a bit of a foreign concept to him because he didn’t have any of those feelings about his own family. 

His mother was sweet enough but their father was an abusive drunk. When he was angry, everyone paid. By the time both of his parents came down with polio, he was already living wherever he could find shelter for the night. He went back after getting a letter sent to his last known address which had been owned by a kindly old woman who had a bakery. Clint went there often because she would give him the stale bread from the day before and she gave him the letter. 

Clint went back to see them off, Barney never showed and it was for the best. He took too much after their old man. Drinking problems, fiery temper, not to mention a virulent hatred for people like Clint and James. So Clint made his own family. Natalia, the guys at the bar, Dmitri and now James. 

Clint shifted his weight and it pulled James back to the present, his hand moving to squeeze Clint’s bicep reassuringly. Clint continued to get up and James worried he had been silent for too long. He opened his mouth but wasn’t even sure what to say. 

Clint slipped out of the bed and down to the floor where he dug in his bag and then put something in his hand, climbing back in. He sat up, his legs crossed underneath him, and faced James. His expression was serious, determined, James sat up a bit straighter as well. 

“James, I…” he trailed off, looking for the right words. He had one shot to get this right. Clint had never given much thought to what he said or how he said it except for when he was purposefully trying to irritate people. This was important. He wanted his self-worth-doubting James to know exactly how much he was worth in Clint’s eyes. 

He held his closed fist out until James put his hand underneath it, open and waiting. Clint gently put something onto James’ palm, curling his fingers back to close his hand before he could get a good look at it. 

He looked James in the eye, as serious as he had ever been, and said, “I’m not trying to replace what you lost but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.” 

James tried to feel what was in his hand and he tried to understand Clint’s words. Well, he understood them but he just couldn’t believe they were for him. He flexed his jaw, looking for words and Clint pulled his hands away from James’ so he could open them to see the silver dog tags sat there. He closed his hand again, pulling it close to him. 

“I love you, James. I do. You might not get why just yet but I think you’re the best guy out there.” 

James was the first person Clint had met in a long time who didn’t treat him differently for being deaf but rather made the effort to make communicating easier. He was the first guy to not view Clint’s lackadaisical approach to things as a flaw, rather it almost seemed like he enjoyed it. He was the first guy Clint could see himself living his life with. Someone who loved him just as he was and had no intention of changing him. Except maybe for a wardrobe upgrade here and there and Clint certainly wasn’t complaining. 

James closed his eyes and let his head drop, his chin almost against his chest. He cradled his closed fist close to his chest and bit down hard in an attempt to keep everything under control. He was usually so good about keeping things in but Clint was pretty damn good at screwing that all up for him. 

He swallowed and then felt a hand on his knee and another carding through his hair. 

“James?” Clint asked in a tone so soft, so concerned, it nearly broke his last bit of resolve. “What’s the matter?” 

James refused to let even a single tear fall down his cheek so he looked away but Clint was quick, his hands immediately holding James’ face, his thumbs ready to wipe away any tears. James wouldn’t look at him but Clint forced him, turning his face. 

“What did I say? Talk to me.” 

He tried to say what he wanted but it just sounded so pitiful so he changed his mind at the last minute. Clint realized, frowning, but went along with it. “I thought Natalia had them.” 

“She did. I asked for them back before I left earlier. I’d planned to come here after work. She understood. She’ll be happy to know they have a new home.” 

James opened his hand slowly to look at the dog tags. “I feel horrible. I don’t have anything for you.” 

Clint snorted and James looked up, surprised. “Are you kidding me? You only two minutes ago promised me the whole entire world and everything else money can buy and you’re worried you haven’t given me anything?” 

“Nothing of value. This? This has value,” he said, holding up the dog tags. 

Clint scooted forward to better cup James’ face between his hands, kissing him slow and deliberate, trying to force as much emotion into it as possible. “Yeah,” he said, pulling away just a little. He could still feel James’ breath on his face. “Well, so does you asking me to move in. So do your promises. You haven’t broken one yet so believe me when I say they carry some hefty value.” 

James put the tags around his neck and signed ‘Thank you.’ 

Clint grinned and reached for him, pulling them both back down but this time, James was in his arms. He thought he would protest it at first like he had the hug that night after he’d saved Rogers but he didn’t. He went easily, relaxing immediately against Clint and pressing a kiss to his bare chest as he settled into the crook of his arm. 

Clint’s fingers danced up and down James’ side and now the roles were reversed and James was beginning to feel heavy, his eyes stinging. He yawned and Clint’s hand raised to rest on his forehead, pushing his dark hair away from it. 

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“You’re just so _incredibly…_ perfect. It’s hard to believe you’re real. Even harder that you’re mine.” 

Clint cleared his throat twice before he could speak, feeling choked up. “Well, best believe it, buddy, ‘cause you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. Don’t forget you gave me house keys.” 

“How could I forget? I’ve been thinking about that for weeks now.” 

“Weeks? What do you mean _weeks_?” 

“You know, like the seven days thing? Monday to Sunday? A week? But plural.” 

“Ass. You know what I mean.” 

“I’m selfish. You make me happy. I wanted you close.” 

“You really like me and stuff, don’t you?” 

“A little bit. Mostly on Tuesdays,” he teased. “Not so much on Fridays.” 

“Screw Fridays then. Let’s just have Tuesday and TuesdayTwo. I’m completely serious when I say I’m sure you know someone who could make that happen.” 

James laughed. “I’ll call Truman.” 

“Quit it, you’re fucking with me. You do not have the president’s telephone number.” James didn’t say anything. “ _James_.” 

“No, that one’s a little too high on the list even for me. But you thought I did for a second there, didn’t you?” 

“Not ashamed to say yes.” 

“What _are_ you ashamed of?” he asked because nothing ever seemed to phase Clint. 

“Every single fashion choice I made the first few times we met.” 

They laughed and talked for a while longer, all the while James was happily tucked against Clint’s side, Clint’s arm around him. Neither of them wanted to sleep anymore, too focused on the conversation even though it was not anything too deep or serious, just chat, but it was exactly what James had been missing and very sorely needed. 

Sometime after the conversation had died down, Clint pulled away, having been staring at the other pictures on the shelf that he hadn’t yet inspected. He climbed over James who laughed at how quickly Clint’s focus shifted and went to stand in front of the shelves. There was one of James and a small skinny boy who looked like maybe, if a witch cast a growing spell on him, he might be a young Steve Rogers. 

“How old were you here?” 

“I was about fifteen.” 

“And Rogers?” 

James started to answer and then hesitated. “Does having that picture there bother you?” 

Clint shook his head. “No. I know you’re mine.” _Now._

James’ heart fluttered. He touched the tags around his neck and Clint smiled at the soft jingling sound. 

“He would’ve been twelve.” 

“He’s younger? I don’t know why but I didn’t expect that.” Clint leaned in closer. “Nice smile.” 

James perked up at the tone of voice, leaning up to look around him. “What?” 

Clint turned, grinning. “I see you grew into those front teeth. Ow,” he said when a pillow hit his face. “Anyone ever call you Bucky?” 

“Only people with a death wish,” he said, leaning back on the bed with his arms behind his head. Clint looked over, momentarily distracted by the beautiful half naked man in the bed. 

He laughed. “Anyone call you Jimmy?” He asked, getting back into the bed. He laid himself on top of James, folding his hands on his stomach and resting his chin on top of them. He looked up at him with a smile and James reached down with one hand to cradle Clint's face, gently stroking his thumb across his cheek. 

James stared at him, his eyes studying every one of his features, all of them perfect. The uneven slope of his nose, the subtle pout of his lips, his bottom one slightly larger than the top, the stubble on his face that never seemed to go away no matter how recently he had shaved. 

He raised his hand to stroke his thumb over his eyebrow and then down his nose. Clint closed his eyes for a moment and James made a sound of displeasure. 

“What?” 

“Open them,” he said softly. Clint opened his eyes and James smiled. “Beautiful.” 

Clint felt the heat rise from his chest up to his face and then turn his cheeks a bright red. He’d never been one to blush until he met James. He also kept coming back to how he’d never been called beautiful before James. 

He let his head drop onto his hands, his hair falling onto James’ stomach. He felt hands in his hair, scratching over his scalp and he was almost asleep again when he heard James’ stomach growl. 

“Hungry?” he mumbled. 

“It’s almost three in the morning. Are you?” 

“You’re the one who’s stomach is shooting off fireworks,” Clint remarked and felt the soft shake of James’ laughter against his forehead. “But yes. I am _always_ hungry, sweetheart. You should know—hey,” he said, changing the topic mid-thought and James smiled. He lifted his head to look at him. “Do you like it when I call you that? Sweetheart? Or would you prefer something else? Maybe something more original?” 

“You call me whatever you want to call me but I do like sweetheart. Never been called that before.” It occurred to Clint in that moment that perhaps he was a lot of firsts for James as well. That was a strange thought. 

“How’s about Jimmy?” 

“Only one person calls me Jimmy and I’ve been asking her to stop for a while now.” 

Clint wasn’t sure why—he couldn’t explain it—but he got the nastiest taste in his mouth at the mention of it being a woman who called him that. He felt secure in James’ affections towards him but suddenly remembering James liked men _and_ women set off his insecurities like a match to gunpowder. 

“Who is it?” Clint asked and James’ expression softened even more and he put his hands on top of Clint’s. 

“ _Solnyshko,”_ he said gently, “you have no competition, alright? You are _the_ number one person in my life.” He waited for Clint’s face to relax. “It’s Sarah Rogers. Steve’s mother.” 

“Right,” he said, feeling embarrassed that James could not only read him so easily but that he has sussed out that Clint was jealous in the first place. 

“She means a lot to you?” 

“She’s not my mother but she’s the next best thing,” he answered. 

“You think she’s gonna hate me?” 

It hadn’t occurred to James that Clint might care what the others thought of him. That he might want to get Steve’s approval. And Sarah’s. 

“Why would she?” 

“Might think I’m replacing her son.” 

“Sarah’s not like that. She just wants us both happy and she already knows that you make me happier than anyone,” he assured him. “Come here.” He shifted them so that Clint was in his arms and he hugged him, pressing a firm kiss to his temple. 

“She knows about me?” James nodded. “And Steve?” James nodded again. 

“Neither of them know many details, Steve fewer than Sarah, but they know you exist. Vaguely.” 

“Why all the cloak and dagger?” 

“I’m told you I’m selfish. I just want you all to myself before I have to share you even a little bit with them.” 

Clint would always find James’ blunt honesty as surprising as it was refreshing. Rarely did he not speak his mind and the few times he had held back from doing so, had only been to spare Clint gruesome work details. Clint pressed a kiss to his chin and then scooted up farther to catch his lips. 

“So… food?” he asked seductively as he pulled away and James barked out a laugh, pecking his nose with a kiss. 

  
  


+

  
  


“He’s being released today?” Clint asked from where he was lying across James’ couch, his legs dangling over the edge and his head on the middle cushion because Clint Barton had apparently never learned how to properly sit on furniture. 

“Yeah,” James said, “you want the rest of this?” He lifted up his half-eaten croissant. Dmitri had stopped and picked them up for them all from their favorite bakery and Clint, of course, had gobbled his down in a flash. 

“Do you really have to ask?” he said, rolling off the couch and going over to take the croissant but he paused, narrowing his eyes. “Why don’t you want it?” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Worried?” 

“A little.” 

“What about? How can I help?” 

“Rogers. He does stupid shit.” Clint abandoned the croissant to come stand behind James’ chair, his hands on his shoulders as he massaged. He dug his thumbs in hard and James’ eyes shut. 

“Like what?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him to hit the gym the first day he’s back home, tear some stitches or just hurt himself some other way. Lord knows that’s all he did as a teenager.” James still had his eyes closed, his head leaned forward now as Clint kneaded into his shoulders with those strong, determined hands. 

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” 

“Just have a bad feeling,” he agreed and Clint’s hands moved to his neck and then to just under his shoulder blades and James almost groaned it felt so good. “Like it’s not over.” 

“Kinda thought you’d live in that feeling with your line of work and all.” 

He made a fair point. James should have been used to that ominous feeling, to an expectation of the worst case scenario. He did live a life where the worst case scenario was usually just the, well, scenario. Even so, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling. Maybe it didn’t even have to do with Steve. Maybe it was something else and Steve’s release was just bringing it to his attention. 

He sighed and Clint felt some of the tension in his shoulders melt away. He smiled, feeling hopeful that he had done that. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of James’ head. 

“You’re spoiling me, you know that, right?” James said and Clint’s hands slid around to hold his face, tilting his head back and he leaned to kiss him upside down. 

“ _Me_ ? Spoiling _you_? It’s so nice to see you have a sense of humor even when you’re stressed.” 

“How come you’ve never given me one of those massages before? Why have you been holding out, Barton?” 

“I may be a tasty piece of ass,” he began and James was already laughing, “but I still want to keep surprising you. Keep things interesting.” 

James snorted. A real snort, not some half-thing that could barely be called that. It was so graceless, so relaxed, that Clint wished he could have somehow recorded it. “Trust me, by your very existence I am interested.” 

James was waiting outside of Steve’s room with a coffee Dmitri had brought him. Clint was still upstairs taking a nap now before he had to head off to work. The bad feeling was still present, only pushed to the very back of his mind with all the other things he needed to give more serious thought to in the next couple of days. 

He tapped the side of the cup watching the door. He wasn’t all that eager to talk to Steve. He hadn’t visited him for a while. Mostly because Tony stayed with him day and night when Steve wasn’t sending him home for proper rest. James knew Tony felt like he was being watched whenever he was in Steve’s room with them. 

When the door opened and Steve stepped out in his suit, he looked fresh and ready to get back out there. He didn’t look like a man who had been hospitalized for a month after being stabbed, shot and beaten. No one took a beating quite like Steve Rogers. 

“You look good, Stevie,” James said, taking a sip of his coffee and standing. 

“I feel good.” 

James stuck his hand out to shake Steve’s and he wasn’t even sure why exactly but it happened naturally. He always hugged Steve. Especially if they were in a more private setting like they were then. But it felt right to stop at a handshake. Although he was long past having feelings for Steve, this felt like it made it official. This told James that he was done with Steve. Romantically speaking. He belonged to Clint. He would hug Steve again but for now, a symbolic handshake. 

Steve looked at his hand and James could see his own inner debate going on but in the end he took his hand and gave it a firm shake. 

“Thank you,” Steve said, holding on a moment longer before he let go and James slipped his hand back into his pocket, leaving the coffee on the chair as they walked to the elevator slowly. 

He scoffed quietly as they got in and went down, turning to Steve as the doors opened and James looked for his car and double checked that someone he recognized was behind the wheel. It was Jones. Seeing as Dugan’s arm was still healing, Jones had become designated driver and Dmitri had been helping Dugan out around his home. 

“I know we didn’t hug but thanking me is just you being ridiculous,” James told Steve. Steve nodded, giving him a small smile but what James didn’t know was that Steve was thanking for more than just saving his life. More than taking care of him at the hospital and his men. More than looking after Sarah, Tony and Benni but also for what he had said to Tony. It was a thank you specifically for the time he had spent with Tony that absolutely no one expected him to do. 

“See ya around?” Steve asked and James heard the silent question there. Was James going to stay distant or become a part of Steve’s life again? 

“Of course,” he told him and saw the smile in his eyes that didn’t totally register on his face. Steve’s way of trying to not show James how excited he was to have him back. Trying to be lowkey. Something Steve Rogers was never really described as being very good at. James gave him a grin and it surprised Steve and reminded him that he had a question. 

“You gonna introduce me to your new friends?” James heard the way he said it. Was he jealous? Perhaps he had a small fear that he had been replaced? 

And then James saw Steve’s eyes go to his neck and understood. He was just incredibly curious. He almost forgot about the marks Clint had sucked onto his neck last night. 

James smiled. “Soon. They’re some amazing people.” Steve would like Natalia. She was the same no-nonsense, judge you with a look type as James. As for Clint… well. He couldn’t wait for Steve to meet him. He was so different from anyone James had ever met, so unlike anyone James had ever liked. So uniquely Clint that he knew it would baffle Steve. 

Steve’s eyebrows raised. “More than one?” 

“More than one friend. Just one more-than-friend,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew it sounded confusing but let Steve be confused. It would be more fun for James to let him try to figure out which one James was seeing. 

The car door opened and Jones got out to open Steve’s. “Hey, Cap, Winter.” 

“Jones,” James said with a nod. 

“Good to see ya,” Steve told him, clapping a hand on his back. He went to get in the car but hesitated, looking back at James. Were they really not going to hug? It just felt so odd to Steve. “Come to dinner sometime.” 

“You’ll see me around,” James told him. 

Steve pursed his lips. That wasn’t the response he wanted. “Alright.” He got in the car and Jones closed the door, nodding once more to James before getting in the driver's seat and pulling out onto the street. 

James watched the car for a minute and then heard footsteps. “Should I wake him?” 

“He’s still asleep?” James asked, turning to Dmitri with a grin on his face. 

“And snoring. Loudly.” 

James laughed, reaching up to feel the dog tags under his shirt. “No, let him sleep a while longer. I’ll wake him when he needs to go.” 

+

“Mr Barton,” Clint heard and the voice sent a chill down his spine. He turned to see that same porcelain-skinned man with those distrustful eyes staring at him. He climbed onto a barstool and folded his hands in front of him on the counter, a smile that just looked wrong on his face. 

“Mr Laufeyson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Oh, I assure you the pleasure is all mine,” he said, that creepy smile still there and Clint felt like he needed a bath after having this man’s gaze on him. “Can I get a bourbon on the rocks, two ice cubes?” 

“Any one in particular?” 

“Your favorite,” he said, trying for relaxed although he looked slightly less comfortable than before. 

Clint gave him a tight smile, angling himself so his back was not completely turned as he poured him a glass of Old Crow bourbon. He set the glass down in front of him with that same smile and then turned to other customers, not wanting to get stuck in a conversation with Loki Laufeyson. 

He was making his way down to Sam Wilson and Carol Danvers when Loki called out to him and he stopped, rolling his eyes to which Sam and Carol both hid their snickers. 

Clint turned on his heels, slapping that same polite smile on his face and wishing Phil wasn’t running late today of all days. 

“Yes? Drink not to your liking?” 

“Oh, no, it’s perfect. I just have some questions.” 

“What kinda questions?” Clint asked, keeping his tone light and as oblivious as possible. 

“Well, as you might know, it’s only myself and one other candidate, Justin Hammer, still in the running for the position of mayor,” he began, his smile almost mocking when he said Justin’s name and honestly, Clint understood that. Justin Hammer was a child and worst of all, he didn’t seem to realize it. “So I’d like to use this time before my inevitable win—” Even so, cocky, much? “—to talk to respected members of the community and find out what in particular is bothering them.” 

“Why do you assume I’m being bothered?” 

“Come now, Mr Barton,” he said and Clint didn’t correct him like he normally did people. He didn’t tell him ‘Call me Clint’ because he did not _want_ Loki calling him Clint. “As much as we New Yorkers like to pretend our city is God’s gift to mankind, we both know it’s got a nasty underbelly just like everywhere else.” 

“I don’t know,” Clint said dismissively, “I think that underbelly gives New York a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , don’t you think?” Clint wasn’t a language man. English and ASL were his crowning achievements and this phrase he had learned from James and had been peppering it into conversation ever since. It was driving Natalia crazy. (“Clint, want to have coffee?” “ _Je ne sais quoi.”_ “What do you mean ‘I don’t know what’?” “Yes.”) 

“No, I don’t,” Loki disagreed, a little of his temper slipping through as he thought Clint really might be oblivious to the world around him when in reality this was Clint’s favorite trick—make people think you’re stupid so they tell you what you want to know. “And I’m here to clean it up.” 

“And if it doesn’t want cleaning?” Clint asked, washing a glass as he spoke. 

“Then they shouldn’t have made me mayor,” he said coolly. 

“They haven’t.” 

“ _Yet_.” He picked up his glass and took a sip, eyeing Clint over the top of it. Clint took his sweet time drying the glass off, making it shine like a new penny to avoid making eye contact with Loki. He knew it was irritating him. “Let me be blunt—” 

“You haven’t been yet?” he asked without stopping to think about whether or not that would fit his whole ‘I’m dumb, tell me your evil plan’ schtick. 

Loki scoffed and leaned forward so that his voice didn’t carry far. The bar was noisy, no one was sitting particularly close to Loki anyway but still he leaned forward. Maybe trying to intimidate Clint but Clint spent his days teasing and irritating James Romanov, there was no intimidating him anymore. 

“I know your bar has been frequented by some unsavory characters in the last few weeks—“ 

“That’s no way to talk about Sam Wilson,” Clint countered, washing a second glass and hearing a slightly offended ‘hey!’ from two seats down. 

Loki gritted his teeth and carried on. “When I’m in charge, ridding this city of the likes of them will be my sole focus. I know you know whom I am referring to and if you get in my way, I’ll take you down with them.” 

“Her?” Clint asked, playing dumber than he ever had because riling Loki up was the most fun he had had all evening. 

Loki turned, his jaw set and eyes angry, to meet a gaze colder than his, eyes just as green and focused and uninterested. His expression softened as she took a seat beside him and Clint poured vodka into the glass he had just been washing and set it down in front of her. 

“Why hello,” Loki said and Clint almost gagged. Was Loki flirting? _Yuck._ “I’m Lo—”

“No,” Natalia said, looking him up and down and then picking up her drink. Loki’s mouth was still open to finish his sentence, the shock obvious in his features and Clint had to walk away to keep himself from laughing in his face. 

Loki’s mouth finally closed and he finished his bourbon, putting his jacket back on. Clint came over to make sure he paid and Loki slipped him a bill. “Keep the change. I’ll be back.” 

“Can’t wait. Have a great day, mister not-yet mayor.” 

Loki glared and Clint waved cheerfully as he left, his smile dropping once he was outside the bar. 

“Asshole.” 

“What did he want? Seems I missed the good parts,” Natalia said, eating one of the peanuts from the bowl Clint put down. 

Clint leaned on the bar in front of her, his arms crossed. “Throwing his weight around saying he’s gonna clean up the city once he’s mayor. Asking me about ‘unsavory characters’ coming in my bar.” 

“If he’s so bold as to come here in the first place while you’re busy, why not just come right out and ask about James?” 

Clint shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe he’s scared.” 

“If he’s not scared, he should be.” Natalia bumped her glass against Clint’s fingers when he didn’t respond. 

“Another one?” 

“Yes, but also what are you thinking?” 

He took the glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. “That I should tell James about Laufeyson’s latest policy.” 

“I agree. How about tonight? At dinner.” 

“Dinner? Where? When?” 

“In about an hour. James said you would forget. He invited Maria as well but she’s busy.” 

James rested a hand on Natalia’s shoulder as he passed behind her on the couch to retrieve the bottle of vodka they had been sharing. Clint had his usual brandy and was sitting on what he had found to be his favorite and most comfortable spot in the living room. 

Natalia reached up and laid her hand on top of his before he pulled it away. Both of them had been growing closer again, having a coffee or a drink together when their schedules permitted. 

James filled both of their glasses and then held the bottle up to Dmitri who was sat beside Natalia but he shook his head, he was fine with water for the time being. Clint nudged him with his foot and mouthed ‘weak’ and Dmitri laughed. 

James plopped down beside Clint and threw an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. “How was work?” 

Was now the right time to bring it up? He looked over at Natalia who nodded encouragingly. “Some jerks got rough with my servers again… and I had an unwanted visit.” 

Anger flashed across his features and he sat up straighter. “From who?” The ‘jerks’ hadn’t slipped James’ notice but the second thing was more worrisome. James could easily fix Clint’s jerk issue. 

“Loki Laufeyson, mayoral candidate.” James’ eyes slid to Dmitri who looked just as pissed off. Clint and Natalia both saw it. “Okay, what do I not know?” 

“Laufeyson works for me.” 

“What exactly does that mean?” Natalia asked. 

“I chose him. I’m the reason he’s the only candidate other than that idiot man. There are things I need him to do,” James explained. “Hm. What exactly did he say?” 

Clint explained and with each word, James’ expression darkened and all Clint could hear were Natalia’s words: _if he’s not scared, he should be._ James looked like he was just about ready to kill someone. He scooted closer to Clint, those bright eyes icy and hard. This was Winter with a side of James. 

“He threatened you?” he asked, his words sharp and bone-chilling. 

“I mean,” Clint began, almost fearing for Loki’s life, “he didn’t exactly _threaten_ me, it was more just a warning and—” 

James reached up and held Clint’s cheek, his expression still fierce but his eyes softer. It was a strange mix. “You let me know the next time he’s there, alright?” His words were caring and his tone gentler but lined with an unmistakable firmness. “Alright?” he asked again. 

Clint nodded. “Promise.” James smiled but it was stressed, not as relaxed as the smile Clint normally got from him and he hated that he had ruined his mood. James’ hand wrapped around the back of his neck and he pulled him in for a quick kiss but quick though it was, Clint felt the protectiveness that was practically radiating from James. That kiss silently said: _you’re mine and I will protect what’s mine._

Clint reached over and squeezed James’ knee comfortingly and he relaxed ever so slightly. He turned to Natalia who was smiling.

“How’s Maria?” 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria meets James. Clint meets Sarah. Loki visits and is a bit bolder this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you’re all safe and sound. I tried to throw in dashes of fluff just because we all need fluff all the time but especially now. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Btw if anyone is interested, the safe haven in the Village James talks about was a real place owned by two incredible women, Esther Lape and Elizabeth Read. The couple, who lived there for over two decades, were influential suffragists, political reformers, and founders of the League of Women Voters.

Clint couldn’t focus on the conversation going on in front of him. James was talking to Natalia about her and Maria’s situation. How was everything going now that Clint hadn’t been home in a while and Maria was becoming a constant. She hadn’t moved in but the neighbors had definitely noticed. 

Clint was too focused on the fact that James had all but said the next time he saw Loki, there would be consequences. Clint wondered briefly if the consequences were because Loki worked for James and wasn’t doing what he should be doing or because of what he had said to Clint specifically. His incredibly mild threat. If the way James’ hand was placed firmly on Clint’s leg was any indication, it was mostly the latter. 

“... is gay,” Natalia was saying as Clint focused in on the conversation again. That word had entered language as slang just a few months ago but people were already taking to using it, seeing as it was better than what they previously had which all sounded like they were subhuman. 

He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out who she was talking about. “Keeps to himself mostly but he’s had zero problem tossing out anyone he didn’t care for. Apparently he has quite the temper.” Her lips quirked up in a knowing smile. 

“Hm,” James said, rubbing a hand across his chin. “So he keeps the ignorant in check then?” 

Natalia shrugged. “There’s only so much he can actually do. He usually tries to find a reason for it that would stand up in housing court first, so we are stuck with some of the model tenants who just also happen to be of that mindset.” 

“Would you—”

“ _Bruce_ is gay?” Clint exclaimed incredulously, finally figuring out who she was talking about. “Landlord Bruce?” 

“Clint,” Natalia chided and he knew from that tone that he had missed something obvious. “The ‘electrician,’” she said, doing air quotes, “who comes to fix all the problems we don’t have?” 

Clint thought back, frowning as he tried to remember the man. He knew all of their neighbors, even the awful ones who should have been arrested just for being hateful. But an electrician? 

“Not an actual electrician. Or maybe he is. He hasn’t blown a fuse yet though I’m sure he’s blown a few other things,” she told him, raising an eyebrow and Dmitri, who had closed his eyes and was lightly dosing, chuckled. 

Clint gasped. “That big burly fella? The Viking-looking one?” Natalia nodded. 

“Oh,” James said, making connections. “Your Bruce is Bruce Banner?” Natalia nodded. “He’s seeing Thor Odinson.” 

“Former mayoral candidate Thor? I knew I wanted to vote for him,” Clint said when James nodded. James gave him a half apologetic look. “How do you know?” 

“When I was… cutting down the competition, Dmitri prepared information to provide, well, blackmail. I had nothing on Odinson, seemed clean as a whistle. Laufeyson is his half-brother. He came prepared with his own file.” 

“I dislike him even more now,” Clint said, leaning back and sighing. “Can’t believe I didn’t know Banner liked fellas.” 

“Me either,” Natalia _and_ Dmitri said at the same time and James chuckled. Clint huffed and leaned into James’ side. James automatically lifted his arm to wrap around Clint’s shoulders. Natalia watched the interaction and it made her happy to see it. 

“So, back to your situation,” James said. “I can offer a few options and perhaps when Maria isn’t busy, we could all talk about which you’d be most interested in.” 

Natalia nodded. “We would like that.” James’ lack of hesitation to meet and invite Maria was puzzling to Natalia. She knew what he was like, why was he so willing to invite an almost perfect stranger to where he slept? Maybe Clint had put in a good word about her. 

+

“So,” James said, getting comfortable and throwing an arm along the back of the couch, a cigar in his hand and a window opened. Natalia had tried it after he had offered but was not a fan, so she stuck to a nice glass of cognac and took a seat on the opposite couch. 

Clint’s head was on a pillow in James’ lap, one leg on the couch, the other dangling off onto the floor. He had his eyes closed, exhausted after a busy day and night at the bar. Maria looked at each of them in turn and then Natalia patted the cushion beside her and Maria sat. Natalia leaned against her and let out a comfortable sigh.

At her apartment, she never felt she could truly relax. She always felt like at any moment, the police might barge in and take them both away. But in James’ home she knew no such thing would happen. Not if those cops liked their jobs and more so their lives. 

Maria was even more unaccustomed to it. Especially seeing how incredibly comfortable James and Clint were. And _double_ especially was the fact that up until last night when Natalia broached the subject of moving in together permanently _and_ moving somewhere else, Maria had no idea who Clint was seeing. She knew it was a fella. A fella with some money but she would have never imagined in a million years that it was Winter. 

Maria worked for the New York Bell Company as a phone operator. She wasn’t in the habit of just suddenly finding herself in the home of one of New York’s crime bosses. The closest she got to that was her intimidating but secretly very lovable boss, Nick. And he had nothing on this man, eyepatch or no. 

She stared at him now. She had heard so many rumors, seen so many headlines that could only allege his involvement in something because he was so difficult to connect to things unless he wanted to be. She didn’t even know his real name until five minutes ago when he introduced himself. 

And now to see him looking down at Clint with all the softness and love that any person would look at their partner with was frankly shocking. It was so normal that it seemed out of place. He ran his fingers through Clint’s hair and Clint smiled but his eyes stayed shut. James looked up and met Maria’s eyes. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I’ve been told,” James said with a smirk and Clint chuckled. 

“ _Understatement_. You know, Maria, when I met him, I just walked right over per my usual chaotic style and tried to shoot the breeze like he was any other Joe off the street. Had no clue,” Clint told her, turning his head to look at her. “And he’s scary, sure, but you can relax. He won’t bite.” He reached up and squeezed James’ face between his thumb and middle finger, shaking his face lightly and James laughed but didn’t whack his hand away which Maria fully assumed he would. 

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise,” Natalia reassured her, squeezing her hand. 

Maria inhaled deeply. “Alright. I think I’m good to go.” 

James smiled. “So, I have a few contacts in the gay communities,” he said and Clint looked up at him in surprise. He tilted his head down to him and explained, “ _He_ doesn’t engage as much for his mother’s safety. I, on the other hand, like to have many contacts.” He meant Steve. Steve did not reach out much to communities with people like him and James because if it got back to him, they might target Sarah. What had happened a few weeks ago was proof enough of that fact. Sarah might’ve been fine but who’s to say they would have stopped at Steve had James not intervened? 

James, as he said, was not so worried. So many of his men were queer. So many of the trusted contacts he had—in the police, in government, in industry, et al—were queer. Sometimes he looked for them on purpose. He knew that what they had in common was a fantastic foundation upon which to build a rapport. Other times, it was a happy coincidence. Not all were but definitely most and he made it a habit to extend his reach to others trying to help those in danger because of whom they loved. 

That didn’t mean everyone knew. It wasn’t public knowledge. Madame Gao nor any of the others knew. Just those who would keep his secret because James also held onto theirs. 

“There are two women downtown in the Village who own an apartment block. It’s a safe haven of sorts but there are rentable apartments that one can lease as well,” he said. “I called them and told them I had a friend in need. They told me they had two available apartments. The address is 20 East 11th Street. Here are their numbers.” He handed Natalia a piece of paper on which he had written ‘Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau.’ 

“Carol? I know her. She’s always at Clint’s bar,” Natalia said, feeling better about the situation already. 

“Carol’s great and I’ve met Maria before too. Fantastic woman. Smarter than half the fellas who come in. Tougher too,” Clint mumbled sleepily and James resisted the urge to lift Clint and cradle him close like the sleepy precious human he was. Instead, he rested his hand on Clint’s chest and Clint reached up and grabbed it, holding on. 

“And the other options? If we don’t want to leave our current area,” Nat asked. 

“I mean,” James laughed. “How important is it that your awful neighbors stay alive?” He scratched his head and added, “It’s easier than you think. Making it look like an accident.” 

Maria’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and Natalia glanced over and tried to stifle her laugh, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. We will go with the first option.” 

“There is a third.” 

“Does it involve anything directly related to your job?” Natalia asked, indicating with her head that he needed to ease Maria in better than this. Natalia was still easing her into her own backstory, to all the terrible things she had done in her past. Maria took it all well for a person in such a lighthearted line of work. She was tougher than she looked but discussion of casual mass homicide was enough to shock anyone. Except maybe Clint. He was still snoozing. 

“Only slightly. Police contacts. I could have them evicted for violating their tenancy agreement.” 

“And if they take it to court?” 

James laughed. “Their complaints wouldn’t even get past the police, let alone make it to a prosecutor. Trust me.” His voice had dropped an octave, the certitude of his statement ringing out loud and clear. “So which would you like?” 

“I think,” Maria said before Natalia could speak, “I’d like to go with the first.” She gave Natalia a look to which she smiled and rubbed her arm again. 

“That’s the one I was going to choose as well,” she said, faking offense that Maria would think she might want the murder or wrongful (not wrongful) eviction. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Clint said, smiling and Natalia didn’t even try to hide her matching smile. 

Later, with the plans all finalized and a call put out to Carol from James, who looked forward to talking to her in person at Clint’s bar, Clint and James stood to see them out. 

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay the night?” James asked, looking at Natalia and then Maria. They had a ways to go. James lived in south Brooklyn and their apartment was in Manhattan near Midtown. Maria had driven her own car but even so, arriving back late just the two of them would only make matters worse with their neighbors for the time being. 

Natalia grabbed Maria’s hand. “We’ll be alright. I appreciate the offer, though,” she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she leaned in to kiss his cheek and he kissed hers. He did the same with Maria and then Clint came over and pulled Natalia into a tight hug and she laughed. 

“Be safe, Nat,” he told her as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

+

  
  


_“I love you, Clint.”_

That’s what James said. It had only been about a week since he heard him say it but still he was amazed at just how much energy thinking about it gave him. Those words really had come out of that man’s mouth, registered on Clint’s hearing aids and then forever attached themselves to his heart. 

Clint Barton, professional klutz, the fella who put the ‘o man’ in ‘romance’, expert in all things severely screwed up, in a measly six months had somehow won the heart of the most intelligent, most gorgeous, richest and scariest person he had ever even heard of. _Him!_ James loved him. What a wild concept. Clint pinched himself just to make sure it was really real. 

Waking up in that house was still a shock. Especially the mornings when James was there beside him reading the paper or running his fingers through Clint’s hair. To open his eyes and see that soft smile and intense gaze focused on him made him go stupid. It cleared his mind of all linear thoughts and sent his heart beating a hundred miles a minute. 

James normally greeted him with a forehead kiss first thing in the morning and Clint had never gotten many of those. The first morning he damn near melted right through the bed. A forehead kiss. So innocent, so undemanding of more, so overabundantly filled with affection—it was such a new experience for him to be handled so gently. 

He rolled and found James still asleep for once. That rarely happened. He was usually already up thinking about something or watching Clint. This time he was completely knocked out, deeply asleep. 

James was always so perfectly presentable. Even at breakfast his hair was combed and his pajamas looked like they had been freshly pressed. Now his chocolate curls were spread out across the pillow and his forehead, his head tilted back slightly and mouth partly open. His arms were draped across Clint, as was his right leg. 

Even like this, snoring lightly—Clint had to assume so because his hearing aids were out—messy hair and limbs all over the place, James was perfect. Clint frowned. No, not even like this. Especially like this. This was a James that belonged only to him. This comfortable, disheveled man was for his eyes only. Perhaps Dmitri had seen it but never intentionally. James was comfortable to be who he was around Clint and who he was, was very charming. 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his chin and James smacked his lips in his sleep. Clint smiled. He shifted over so he was also on James’ pillow and then further until his head was pillowed on James’ left bicep and he tucked his face against his chest, the fabric of his sleep shirt soft on his skin. He exhaled happily and James’ arms tightened around him. 

Clint felt the rumble of James’ deep voice, always deeper when he had just woken up. James spoke for a minute, giving Clint a good morning squeeze and then he was quiet again and Clint wondered what he said but nothing else came and then Clint felt his breathing even out again as he drifted off as well. 

_“There’s coffee in the pot,”_ Dmitri said when James came into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Dmitri was already dressed for the day, eating his breakfast and reading the paper. 

James nodded to him, thanked him and poured himself a glass, drinking it hot. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the familiar taste, already feeling himself waking up. He rolled his neck and then his shoulders, taking another sip and then turning to see what he would eat. Dmitri had gone the oatmeal route. That was not James’ favorite meal. 

He opened the fridge to check for eggs when he heard a loud thud come from upstairs and stopped, turning to Dmitri who chuckled and then it clicked. James sighed, a fond smile on his face. 

They heard another thud a minute later while James was cracking eggs into a bowl. This thud was followed closely by a string of curses and James laughed as Clint came into the kitchen, rubbing his elbow and looking between the two of them. His hair was sticking up in every direction possible, he was still in his sleep clothes and barefoot. He didn’t even manage any words until he got to the coffee pot, staring at it and groaning because he forgot it was that awful science fair project instead of a plain old coffee machine. 

He dropped his head back dramatically and then perked up when he felt something being pushed into his hands and he looked down to see James giving him his half full mug of coffee and closing his fingers around it. 

“You look like you need this more than I do,” he told him. Clint smiled at him, still bleary-eyed.

He lifted the mug to take a sip but had to pause to yawn first. James watched, fascinated and in love. Dmitri watched them both, curious. 

Clint finally managed to drink the coffee and come over to lean against the counter beside James. James turned to him, pushing his hair away from his forehead as he sipped. He very gently removed a fallen eyelash from his cheek and Clint turned to face him, moving more into his space. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” Clint said, more awake, “I’d think you were trying to win me over.” 

“Is it working?” James asked, closing the space and kissing him. Dmitri smiled and went back to his paper. 

“Hm,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe try it again.” 

  
  


_“Tomato soup and a ham sandwich,”_ Vitaly said as he carefully set the plate down on James’ desk. He came around behind him to lay a serviette across his lap and then placed the cutlery on either side of his plate. It was a formality Dmitri had long ago stopped doing. When Dmitri brought his lunch he sat it in front of James all on one plate or in whatever packaging it came with a serviette and then took his own seat to eat. 

Now with Vitaly—and, granted this change had come at James’ order—it was like starting over again. His hands shook while he set down the tray, the meal was not James’ favorite but unlike Dmitri, Vitaly’s cooking skills were limited and he was not yet trusted to pick up food. James groaned. 

This is why people didn’t do nice things for others. He put Vitaly in this position to spare Dmitri from ever suffering the same fate as Grigory. Dmitri had thought it would be helpful if Vitaly then took over all food responsibilities, including cooking lunch as it would get him used to being in James’ presence so often.

James could not and honestly refused to imagine his life without Dmitri. And while he didn’t _actually_ regret the decision, he just couldn’t stand Vitaly. Something about his existence just rubbed James the wrong way. 

_“Thank you,”_ he said, hoping Vitaly would go away. Sadly, he did not. James looked up. _“Is there something else?”_

_“Dmitri said I should make sure you like your meal first.”_

James knew he did that on purpose and he would get him back for it later once he was back but for now, James forced hot soup into his mouth and then immediately bit the sandwich, swallowing without even tasting. 

_“Acceptable,”_ he said because as much as he wanted him gone, he was not about to sacrifice the rest of his lunches by telling this man his subpar food was delicious. 

Vitaly nodded and left out, coming back a moment later, and James sighed, to put a cup of coffee down and then leave again. 

“Finally,” he muttered to himself when the door shut, taking another bite of the sandwich. The food wasn’t poisonous but it wasn’t good. The soup was too acidic and left an awful flavor on James’ tongue and the sandwich had gotten soggy from the condiments Vitaly put on it. James sighed. 

He was already grumpy because Clint had taken the day off and decided he would sleep in at home and now his lunch was awful.

Great. 

However the thought of Clint being ‘at home’ improved his mood. That _quickly_ improved his mood. Clint was home. _Their_ home. In _their_ bed, most likely, if he wasn’t in _their_ kitchen looking for some lunch. He was just having a tired day and decided to sleep in. Clint worked hard, he deserved it and James was happy he could do it. 

James was halfway through his food when the phone rang and he answered after swallowing. He didn’t speak, he waited for them to speak. 

“Winter?” came Loki’s voice and James’ clenched his fist but forced himself to relax. If he was going to remind Loki who he worked for, he was going to do it with the element of surprise. 

“Yes.” 

“Hello. I wanted to call to go over one of your proposals outlined in the folder your… right hand man dropped off yesterday.” James didn’t appreciate the wording or the pause. He wondered what the first few terms were that came to mind as he tried to choose one to describe Dmitri and a ‘proposal’? That sounded optional. Loki’s instructions were not optional but James played along. 

“Which?” 

“The Blind Eye policy,” he said, which was exactly what it sounded like. Loki and the police would continue to turn a blind eye to anything mob-related—unless James and James _only_ instructed them otherwise. If it was not mob-related, they were to proceed as usual. 

“What about it?” 

“I just had questions about a few of the stipulations.” James leaned back in his chair. “About the—”

“Is it a question of comprehension or amendment?” he snapped, his patient eroding quicker than he thought it would. He wasn’t sure if it was being questioned about a direct command he had given or the fact that this man had also come into Clint’s bar to try and scare him, but James was holding his temper in by the skin of his teeth. 

“It—beg your pardon?” 

“Do you not _understand_ what is on the paper in front of you or are you hoping to _change_ it because I assure you, Mr Laufeyson, if it is the latter you will not enjoy our next conversation very much,” James snapped. He wasn’t going to enjoy their next conversation regardless. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “You have ten seconds to answer me.” 

“Comprehension,” he said quickly. “The, uh, the, um—so you have, uh. This includes all precincts in the five boroughs?” 

“Not Staten Island. I have a few connections but you wouldn’t catch me dead there.” He heard a forced laugh on the other end of the phone and he hung up in the middle of it. 

James was just about to lean back when the door opened and he got ready to let out a good threat when his eyes landed on Dmitri. Dmitri closed the door behind him and then froze, the smile on his face dropping. 

_“What’s wrong? What happened?”_ He sat down in the chair across from James’ desk, handing James a coffee and a pastry. 

_“Laufeyson called,”_ he said with a scoff, picking up the coffee. _“He tried to make a power play and then when that didn’t work—”_ Dmitri chuckled at James’ pseudo-shocked tone _“—he started backtracking.”_

_“So what’s the plan?”_

_“Remind him just how much I don’t need him.”_

  
  


It was nearing two in the afternoon that Clint finally got out of bed again and headed downstairs. He slipped on the top step but caught himself on the balustrade and cursed, continuing on his mission to find food. He wasn’t sure why his body needed so much time to remember how to function after waking up. 

At the bottom of the steps he sighed, turned around and headed back up to get his hearing aid. 

“Come on, Barton, use those three and a half brain cells,” he muttered to himself. 

Back downstairs, he sat the hearing aid on the kitchen table. He liked the silence every now and then but he also wanted to listen to the game on the radio in James’ kitchen. He switched it on as he took out eggs, bread and some meat. Clint wasn’t sure what exactly it was—it smelled good—but he decided he would also be eating it. And some of the other leftovers from the night before. He needed to get cereal for his new home, he realized belatedly. He would go out later and stock up. 

He had heated up the meat and was eating it while the eggs cooked, listening to the game and booing every time any bad call was made towards the Dodgers, when he heard the door shut. 

“Kitchen,” Clint called, moving his eggs from the pan onto his plate and pulling his toast out of the toaster. He piled some of the meat on there as well along with some soggy vegetables and something he assumed might be fish, sat it on the table and headed for the door to greet James, the spatula still in his hand. “Hey, sw—”

Acting purely on instinct, Clint threw the spatula with a deadly amount of precision, knocking the handgun out of the hands of the blond woman. Both the gun and spatula clattered to the ground and Clint stood his ground as she took a half-step back, watching her. 

“You’re definitely not James. I _definitely_ locked that door, so who are you and how did you get in here?” 

“Who am I? Who are _you_?” 

“ _You’re_ the intruder,” he said, but her accent made him narrow his eyes. Was she English? Irish? “You don’t really look like you’re here to kill anybody but maybe that’s the point.” 

She was small, older—perhaps in her fifties—with golden blond hair and sky blue eyes and a face that looked like it could be sweet and inviting but was currently cold and confused. 

“ _Kill_ anybody?” 

“I assume that’s usually why people would break into his home.” 

She tilted her head to the side and for the first time she noticed the hearing aids and connected the dots. “You’re Jimmy’s fella, aren’t ya?” 

“Yes, and if you call him Jimmy,” Clint countered, “then you must be Sarah Rogers.” 

“That I am.” Maybe being deadly ran in the family. 

“Clint Barton,” he said, extending a hand to her that she took and gave a firmer handshake than Clint had expected. 

“That’s quite the impressive aim you have there, Clint Barton.” 

“That’s quite the gun you have there, Mrs Rogers.” She chuckled and Clint bent down to pick up both, handing her the gun that she put down on the entranceway table. It seemed like an act of peace more than anything else. She put her purse down as well beside it. 

“Is he here?” 

“No, he’s working.” 

“And he left you in his home?” She seemed shocked, which Clint understood. James had told him already how many people actually had access to his home and now Clint was number four. 

“I live here,” he told her and watched her eyes widen in surprise, internally very satisfied by that reaction. 

“You _live_ here?” He nodded. Her expression screamed ‘wow’ and she shook her head slowly, a soft smile on her face and Clint didn’t understand its significance. “Well, I brought muffins. Fresh baked. Mind if I leave them here?” she asked and Clint got the feeling that she wasn’t quite used to asking anyone for permission. This was, after all, the mother of Steve Rogers and pseudo-mother of James Romanov. He couldn’t imagine many people telling her no or even putting her in a position to ask. 

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside so she could go into the kitchen. She gave him a smile and headed off in that direction, Clint following closely behind her. 

“So he talks about me?” Clint said once they were both in the kitchen and she was sitting the basket of muffins down on the table. 

Sarah chuckled. “He does, though only what I could squeeze out of him. I know you’re pretty damn important to him but I’m sure you know how it is trying to get information out of that man,” she teased, her smile gentle and warm. 

Actually, Clint had no idea what that was like. Maybe in the beginning when James didn’t trust him and he didn’t trust James as far as he could throw him but even then he had answered Clint’s questions. Clint had never really had a problem with James giving out information, only with himself not asking for it. 

He hadn’t realized that was out of character for James until now. The thought that Clint was the exception to the rule made him very, very happy. 

She turned to Clint and he suddenly wished he was wearing something other than his lounge clothes in front of this perfect stranger and obviously sophisticated lady. 

He also wished his breakfast didn’t look like the concoction of a starving eight-year-old. He sighed. One of these days he would learn to make a good first impression. There was always still Steve. He had one more chance to work on his… Clintness. 

“How long have you lived here then?” she asked. “Don’t remember seeing you when we were all here.” 

“I wasn’t here then,” he told her. “I was still living with my… friend then.” He opted for that word because he didn’t think ‘wife’ would go over all too well. “James asked me about a month ago.” 

“And you’ve been here a month now?” He nodded. “You said yes rather quickly.” She sounded suspicious and he didn’t blame her. He definitely understood the desire to protect James even if it didn’t seem to make sense. 

“I care about him. A lot,” Clint blurted out before he could stop himself. By some miracle, the first words that came to mind—“I love him”—didn’t come out and he was incredibly grateful because while he did in fact love James, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to tell Sarah Rogers that. James could still be wrong. She might resent Clint. 

“I’m very glad to hear that,” she said, her voice steady and face as unreadable as James’. She put her hands on her hips, her expression transitioning from blank to worry mixed with distrust. 

“Listen, lad,” she began and Clint waited patiently to hear what she had to say. “James means a great deal to me and my boy.” Clint flinched the tiniest bite at the mention of Steve, even if it was indirect. 

Even though he wanted to make a good first impression with Steve, he still was not looking forward to meeting the man James had been in love with for years. 

“And I don’t want to see him hurt,” she continued. Clint had half a mind to mention that _her boy_ had already hurt him but this was one time that his impulse control kicked in and boy was he glad it did. “You seem a decent fella but, in all honesty, I don’t know you from Adam.” 

There it was, the response Clint had been waiting for if Sarah really did care for James as much as he said. The same reaction Clint would have if someone was trying to get close to his James. _My_ _James_ , he repeated to himself and did his best not to smile. 

“No disrespect, ma’am,” Clint began, his voice serious, “but you’re right. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” Sarah folded her arms over her chest, listening. “But I’m guessing you know Dmitri?” 

“That I do.” 

“Me too. And you know Dmitri introduced us, James and I.” She didn’t react. So she didn’t know. “I’ve known Dmitri for years. My best friend is his cousin. I still completely understand you wanting to be thorough but, ma’am, I assure you I want nothing but the best for James.” 

“I’m sure you do, lad,” Sarah said, “however I prefer my proof in actions more so than words.” 

“I can respect that.” 

“Good. Then perhaps we should have a restart right here, right now. A little getting to know each other, seeing as I’m already here and I assume you aren’t busy?” 

Clint shook his head. “Not busy and I’d like that. I know you mean a great deal to him as well.” He saw the look in Sarah’s eyes, the mild surprise that James had also talked about her to Clint. 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll scrounge us up some proper food. This is a disgrace and it hurts my heart.” The more he looked at his plate of food, the sadder it became. 

He nodded. “Yes, please.” 

Sarah moved around the kitchen with a familiarity that Clint almost envied. He knew it was foolish to feel that way because he would know the kitchen that well one day too but it still reminded him that there would always be people who had known James longer. He wasn’t angry; it was just… a frustrating thought. One that he had never even had before with anyone else. 

She pulled out pots and pans and utensils all the while keeping the kitchen incredibly clean. Clint had gone upstairs to change into more proper clothing and then sat at the table to continue talking to her. 

“When did you meet James?” 

“Oh,” she said fondly, laughing softly, “he must’ve been no more than eight or nine. You didn’t know?” she asked when she saw the surprise on his face. “He was a few classes above Steven and he’s always been brave, a good lad,” she added thoughtfully and Clint agreed. 

“Steven was a small child, sickly. Always getting pushed around ‘till James put a stop to it.” She smiled, peeling potatoes and putting them into a pot. “Knocked those wee rats’ heads together. Never bothered him again. They became friends almost immediately.” 

“Sounds like something James would do,” Clint said, smiling and sipping the coffee Sarah had also made for them. She also knew how to work that confounded coffee contraption and Clint wasn’t jealous, he was amazed. 

“You can say that again,” she laughed, filling the pot with water and putting it back on the stove. She added a few vegetables—some leeks and onions and carrots—and put the top on it. “Always looking out for those who really need help. He and Steven like to wax poetic about what unforgivable monsters they are and how they’re undeserving of love.” She had her back to the stove now, watching Clint’s face. 

He knew what she was after and he didn’t hesitate. “Kind of feel like they’re not in the best position to be making such hasty and baseless accusations,” Clint said casually. “I feel like that belongs to the people who love them and see what they don’t see. Which is a lot more than they think.” 

“I mean,” she said, eyes still fixed intently on him, “it’s not the most victimless profession.”

“There are worse.” 

“And the lines of what’s wrong and what’s right are crossed more often than the Brooklyn Bridge,” she added. 

“Occupational hazard, I guess,” he said. He traced his finger around his coffee cup as he spoke, maintaining the nonchalant atmosphere 

“And,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest, “killing people… it’s not something that you just _forget_ they do.” 

“I do. And have. Many times,” he said with a chuckle and Sarah’s perfectly neutral mask almost cracked and she almost smiled but she held on. “I mean I’ve killed people.” 

Sarah opened her mouth to talk but the words dried up in her mouth and never left. She looked at him, wide-eyed, realizing she _really_ didn’t know much about him. Maybe James had found someone with no morals whatsoever. “You have?” 

“Sure. As a soldier.” Sarah visibly relaxed. “Sent home in ‘43. Lost my hearing after a bomb went off a little too close to my head,” he said, smiling like he always did when he talked about it because if he didn’t smile, he might cry. He didn’t miss his hearing _that_ badly, being able to turn the world off was not an advantage he had foreseen. 

But it was terrifying. Coming to, dazed and in pain, looking around him and trying to get his bearings all the while unable to hear a damn thing. He’d felt the vibrations of other bombs going off, he remembered being frantically pulled to his feet, tripping in the darkness and the thick mud as they ran for safety. He remembered his friend Wade screaming at him and Clint screamed right back but he couldn’t hear either of them. 

He’d seen so many others be too close to bombs and few of them had gotten away as unscathed as he had. Hearing loss, a nasty gash on his head, a few pieces of shrapnel in his side but nothing too deep. He was far enough away to live but close enough to suffer. But he would never forget that he was one of the lucky ones. 

He’d watched other men, friends, lose limbs. He’d gone running up to others afterwards to find he could see straight through them to the dirty ground below. Some had had enough energy left in them to stagger back over to where they were crouched only to bleed out a few minutes later. 

Clint’s gaze came back into focus and it took him a moment to readjust and remember where he was. He wasn’t on the battlefield anymore. He was in James’ kitchen and he was safe and he was doing something? 

“Clint, love?” Sarah said tentatively and his head followed the direction of her voice. 

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his gaze to the floor. When he looked up again, she was crouching down, a hand on his knee and her expression was soft. 

“No need to be sorry, love.” She squeezed his knee. “Steven fought as well. He did,” she confirmed when Clint looked surprised again. “Took a few hits himself.” She stood slowly and patted his cheek. “You passed, by the way.” 

“Passed?” Clint asked, still trying to reign in everything he was feeling and ground himself again. It was difficult in an unfamiliar setting with the only person around him a near stranger. He wished James was there. Or Natalia. Even Phil. 

“The test.” 

“What— _oh._ And you should know I meant every word.” 

“Oh, believe me,” she said, back at the kitchen counter, cutting up some beef and adding it to a separate pot. “I know. Not many liars that can come up with answers like yours as fast as you did.” Clint smiled just as she said, “I think you’ll fit in just fine. Now tell me: have you ever had Irish meat and potato pie?” 

  
  


“Took them to Coney Island once,” Sarah said, poking her fork into her next bite. 

“Just you with both of them? How old were they?” Clint asked around a mouthful of food so delicious it might just rival James’ cooking. It was one meal where he had to force himself to eat slowly because he did not want to run out of it too quickly. 

Everything was perfect. The pie crust, which he had watched her make while they talked about James and Steve’s childhoods and what they were like, was flaky and buttery and golden and Clint could’ve probably just eaten the crust dipped in gravy but she had been so nice and also filled the pie with tenderized steak and hearty vegetables and Clint was in food heaven. He almost felt like he was cheating on James’ meat stew. 

Sarah had sneaked in a few questions about Clint’s childhood and his reluctance to give her more than a few words gave her all she needed to know. She had raised a boy in a household with an abusive father and she had another two living with her now. She knew the signs and she saw them surrounding and pointing to Clint, so for the time being, she stopped asking and focused instead on her boys. 

“Oh, I think Steven was about ten so James would’ve been almost thirteen. Godawful ages,” she said, taking a drink of water. “Steve had stuffed himself to the brim with hotdogs—he was always a skinny lad, think he might’ve been trying to catch up to James—and then they went for a ride on the cyclone. You know the one?” 

“Great,” she continued after he nodded, “so there’s my wee Steven going up on this gigantic, high speed death trap with a full tummy and what does he do? He turns to James and everything comes back up all over him. Boy, he was spittin’ fire at Steven for a couple of weeks for that one. I think he’s still sour about it to this day.” 

Clint was laughing and trying to imagine a small, less scary James. His mind went back to the picture upstairs. The one he had asked him about the other night with the buck teeth. He loved that smile on that boy. It was so wide and light, so untainted by the world. He wished he could’ve met him when he was always smiling like that. 

“Ahem,” they heard come from the doorway and both turned to see James standing there. He had a little blood on his shirt sleeve—he’d needed an outlet after Loki’s call and Dmitri had just the issue—but otherwise was his usual perfectly orderly self except for the confused look on his face. “Sarah?” 

James hadn’t had the worst day ever but after his mediocre lunch it had really only gone downhill from there. Loki called and made a fool of himself. Madame Gao phoned next, wanting to arrange a meeting to discuss a few suggestions she also had for the future mayor. Fisk called and James had the immense pleasure of watching it ring and now he was home and all he wanted to do was change, eat, have a drink and curl up with Clint somewhere on some piece of furniture. He wasn’t picky. 

But now Sarah was there. 

He loved Sarah, don’t get him wrong, but there was something about doing things on his own terms that was such an integral part of who James was. While this seemed to have been a nice evening—afternoon? Day? James wasn’t sure when she had arrived—it wasn’t how James wanted to introduce Clint to Sarah. It was such a seemingly small thing, perhaps trivial to some people, but it irked James. He loved the Rogerses but they were very stubborn and overprotective. 

And sure, James was selfish. He did want to keep Clint to himself for a while but that was his business! Yes, James had come for dinner and met Tony and Benni but that was because Sarah and Steve invited him! And the situation with Tony and Steve was purely platonic at that time anyway. This was different and it was irritating and Sarah seemed to realize this. 

“Hello, love,” she said softly. “I made you some muffins. I didn’t know your Clint would be here but it’s been a pleasure getting to know him.” 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Clint said, swallowing his food and then hitting James with that heart-stoppingly gorgeous grin. His entire body released tension and he smiled at him, going right over to press a kiss to his forehead. He stayed there a moment longer, his lips against his warm skin, his eyes closed. 

He sighed as he pulled away and noticed Sarah watching them, a curious smile on her lips. He went over to her next. He was irritated but he hadn’t forgotten his manners. He bent to kiss each of her cheeks and then took a seat, pulling out the chair between the two of them. 

He undid his cufflinks and rolled his sleeve up to his forearms, carding his fingers through his hair and effectively creating what Clint liked to call the Casual James. 

“Thank you for the muffins,” he told Sarah after a stretch of unsure silence. “And you cooked?” 

“Actually she saved me from myself,” Clint told him sheepishly. James laughed. “I’d made, well, just a mess. And then I put it on a plate but I don’t really think it was meant to be eaten.” 

“Oh, Clint,” James said softly, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder, sliding it up to rest on the back of his neck. “Is there more?” 

“Yeah, loads in the kitchen. Mrs Rogers has the magic touch,” Clint said and James reached over to steal a bite of Clint’s. He was right, it was delicious. 

“Sarah,” Sarah said, looking at Clint and it took a minute before what she was saying clicked. 

“Sarah,” he amended. 

James got up to make himself a plate. “How long have you been here?” he asked, putting a slide of the pie into his plate along with a few of the extra veggies she had left over and had put aside. He came back over and sat, looking at Sarah. 

“Must have been somewhere around three,” she answered, taking another bite. 

It was almost seven o’clock. “I can only imagine the kinds of stories you’ve had the time to share in four hours,” he said, feigning worry. 

“She told me some good ones but I have an inkling she’s holding out on the really juicy ones,” Clint accused, giving her a look and she laughed. 

“I don’t even know most of the juicy ones,” she told him, “these two were always getting up to no good. I couldn’t keep up. I’m sure there’s plenty I don’t know.” 

James snorted, eating just as slowly as Clint for the same exact reason. He had missed Sarah’s cooking. He couldn’t even truly enjoy it while her and the boys had stayed at his home because he was constantly working. Now that things were on an upswing—minus Loki’s idiocy—and he had Clint by his side, the food was absolutely perfect. 

“We weren’t _that_ much trouble.” 

“Well, I have a patch of early grey hair that says otherwise,” she countered. “You two used to drive us mad! Me and your poor ma as well. Getting into fights, getting thrown out of speakeasies for trying to sneak in underage!” 

Clint turned to James and slapped a hand over his mouth as if shocked by James’ behavior. James rolled his eyes, reaching out to gently thump Clint’s ear with his index finger. 

“Ow. There was zero need for violence.” 

Sarah said she needed to get back not long after they’d finished eating. She had been trying to give Steve and Tony more alone time as of late but she also sorely missed her son who had been holed up in that hospital. 

They stood at the door to see her off, Clint, as usual, leaning against James, tucked comfortingly into his side and it didn’t escape Sarah’s notice just how comfortable James looked. Not just comfortable—happy, at peace. Clint’s presence was like a soothing balm, smoothing out even the most prominent of anger lines on James’ face. 

James helped her into her light coat—it was still only July—and she walked up to Clint, looking up at him because he was about as tall as Steve. 

“I like you, Clint,” she told him and he smiled. He might have stood his ground earlier but deep down he wanted her to like him so much. He wanted to keep giving James reasons to love him even if he said he didn’t need anymore nor did he care what Sarah or Steve thought. Clint knew that last part was a lie. Of course he cared. “And I look forward to seeing you the next time.” 

She motioned for him to lean down and he did so she could kiss his cheeks, her hand coming up to his face and giving it a gentle pat. 

She turned to James next and James turned to Clint. 

_“Solnyshko_ , would you mind if we…?” 

“Say no more. I have room for a few more bites of pie and a muffin.” Clint said goodbye to Sarah and headed for the kitchen. 

Once they heard the sound of the kitchen door closing, James turned back to her. 

“So?” 

“So, what, love?” 

“Sarah.” 

“I meant what I said,” she told him. “I like him. He’s sweet. Funny. He loves you a great deal. But do you really care what I think? I can already see how gone over him you are.” 

“No, not really,” he answered her honestly and as much as she had always welcomed his transparency when he wanted to give it, it still sometimes took her a moment to adjust to it. Especially after spending all her time with Steve who never said what was on his mind and Tony who was still very cautious about expressing negative thoughts or feelings. “But he cares because he knows you’re important to me. I just want to be positive when I tell him later that you do actually like him.” 

“In that case, you can be completely sure. I think he’s a find, alright.” 

“Me too,” James said quietly, looking in the direction Clint had gone and reaching up unthinkingly to touch the chain of the dog tags and Sarah’s eyes followed the movement. It took her a second but she figured out what she was seeing. 

“You deserve this,” she told him firmly and he turned back to her. “Every bit of it. The happiness, the love, the laughs. All of it. You hear me?” He nodded. “I have no doubts that you’ll take good care of him.” 

“I love him so much it hurts,” James said suddenly. “If I could marry him I would. In a heartbeat.” 

Sarah warmed at that, reaching over to take James’ hands as she repeated, “And you deserve it.” He knew why she kept repeating it. She knew what James thought of himself. She knew he thought Steve was the only person who could ever possibly love him because they were almost in the same boat morals-wise. 

But that’s what he used to think. He was still working on getting it to sink in some days but for the most part he knew Clint loved him and he accepted that love. 

“Thank you,” he said, pulling her into a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It was nice seeing you again.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. I know you weren’t happy with me at first.” 

He let out a sigh. “I suppose it had to happen sometime.” 

  
  


Clint and James did the dishes together, Clint occasionally flicking water at James who finally splashed him back and Clint laughed. Clint asked him about his day and James told him in full, relieved to have someone to come home to and tell all his thoughts and worries too. 

“Speaking of, where is Dmitri?” 

“Dugan’s. He’s been helping out ever since he broke his arm.” 

Clint raised both eyebrows. “Is—are they, you know, a thing?” 

James shook his head. “No. Dugan has a girl, I’m told. Never seen her and Dmitri… he’s not interested.” 

“In fellas?” 

“In anyone. Said he’s happy how he is.” 

“Huh, interesting,” Clint said. 

They slipped into a comfortable silence that was only broken when a fork slipped out of James’ hand and landed with a loud clatter in the sink. Clint startled violently, almost dropping the plate he was drying. 

James turned to him. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, the sound just caught me off guard is all.” 

James accepted that response but didn’t quite trust it. He would leave it for now but Clint wasn’t the jumpy type. Was he scared of Loki? Had Sarah said something? They hadn’t really talk about her visit yet, maybe there were things James needed to know. To clarify and as much as he would appreciate the sentiment, he hoped Sarah had not felt compelled to threaten Clint. 

Twice more before bed it happened—James had closed a door too forcefully and one of the bathroom cabinets—and Clint jumped but didn’t explain. James didn’t question it, hoping Clint would tell him in his own time. 

  
  


They had been asleep a few hours before Clint started talking. It woke James and he asked him several times to repeat himself, not fully awake either, before it clicked that Clint couldn’t hear him. 

James sat up, listening, and then realized that Clint was still asleep. He was clutching the blanket so tightly his knuckles were white, the muscles in his arm taut from how tense he was. James carefully placed a hand on his arm and Clint flinched. 

“...it’ll be okay… hear you… can’t… it’ll… look, look out—” He gasped, sitting up, his head whipping left and right as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was still waking up and completely at a loss as to where he was. He was trying to get out of the bed and find something familiar when arms closed around him and were pulling him and he thrashed at first, not understanding, and then he felt lips against his temple and turned his head to see James. 

“You’re safe,” James said and Clint didn’t hear it but he felt the hot breath against his ear and felt the strong arms wrapped around him. He closed his eyes, still trying to catch his breath and clear his mind of the images. They were so vibrant, they felt so real. 

They _had_ been real. Once. 

Him comforting soldiers torn to shreds by bombs, giving them hope things would be alright when he knew they wouldn’t be. He knew there was no hope and they wouldn’t survive even a few more minutes but he didn’t want their last memories to be any more badness. He wanted to comfort and—and he wanted to—

James was holding him tighter and Clint felt a tear roll down his face and then more. James wiped them away and pressed kisses to Clint’s cheeks, all the while assuring him that he was safe and that James loved him. 

After a moment James pulled away and Clint grabbed for him. 

“Don’t—where are you going?” he asked quietly, dragging the back of his hand across his face, feeling foolish but still so scared. His heart was racing out of control and he knew he was sweaty. 

James signed the letters M-I-L-K not knowing how to sign the actual action for the drink and waited for Clint to nod or shake his head. Clint exhaled shakily and nodded. Warm milk would be good. 

James stood but stopped at the door, turning back and waving his hand to get Clint’s attention, he was staring at the bed, his gaze unfocused and James really didn’t want him slipping back into that nightmare of his. 

James signed: ‘come with me’ 

Clint nodded and climbed out of the bed. James opened his wardrobe and found the softest robe he owned, wrapping it around Clint and then taking his hand, squeezing it. 

They walked downstairs and James brought pillows from the couches in the living room and sat them in a chair at the table for Clint. 

“I feel stupid,” Clint said quietly, looking at the floor. James had basically wrapped him in a blanket and built him a throne of pillows. Things you did for sad, scared children. Clint dragged a hand down his face, stopping to rub his eyes and then he felt a weight on his knee. He opened his eyes to see James sat in a chair in front of him, a hand on his knee and James looked so very concerned and gentle. 

His eyebrows were pulled together and his lips tugged downward into a frown. His bright eyes were troubled and Clint couldn’t bring himself to believe all of this was over some nightmare he had. 

“Can you read my lips?” James asked and Clint frowned but then nodded. It took a minute and he didn’t always get every single word but he could do it fairly well. “Okay, because I don’t know enough sign language yet. One second.” 

He got up and poured the warmed milk into a glass for Clint, bringing it over along with one of Sarah’s muffins. Another wave of shame washed over Clint at the idea of James needing to coddle him like that. Milk and baked goods? Really, Clint. 

James must’ve seen it in his face because he reached for one of his hands and had Clint look up at him. When he did, he said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s nothing to try and hide. Especially not from me. Okay?” Clint hesitated, toying with the sleeve of the robe and James took both of his hands now. “Clint.” 

He let go only to reach up and run his fingers through his hair, sliding his hand down to hold his face. 

“I talked about the war. Earlier with Sarah,” he told him, finally meeting his eyes. James nodded, having figured as much. “It felt so real,” he said, his voice cracking and he looked away but James coaxed his face back towards him. 

“It _was_ real. You were there. You’re safe now but that doesn’t mean you just forget. I didn’t fight in a war but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my share of nightmares,” James told him comfortingly. 

“It’s _unnecessary_ , Ja—”

“It’s _Combat Stress Reaction._ It has a name. It’s a legitimate affliction and you, Steve, and probably every other soldier who saw any action has it. It’s, sadly, a part of you but I promise to take care of every single part of you.” He lifted the hand he was holding to his lips and pressed a kiss to each of his knuckles. 

He reached out for the milk which was still warm but not too hot. “Here.” He pressed the glass into his hands. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” 

Clint did as he was told and took a small sip and then a larger gulp. James watched, a smile so loving on his face that it definitely helped Clint’s mood. James stood and pressed a kiss into Clint’s hair, putting the pot in the sink to soak and grabbing the muffin and a napkin. He held his hand out for Clint who took it and he led him back upstairs with his comfort snacks. 

He put the glass of milk on the bedside table and climbed in first, patting the space in front of him and then Clint was in his arms, his back against James’ chest and James’ arms wrapped around him while he picked off smile bites of muffin. 

James didn’t talk, knowing Clint couldn’t hear him but he kept pressing kisses to his head, his neck, his ear, wherever he could reach. Dealing with things like this would always be the hardest because there was no one person James could hurt to make Clint feel better. There were no strings he could pull, no leverage he had or favors to call in. Just like with Steve, he had to settle on being mad at the world and doing his best to make sure Clint knew how much James loved him. 

“Thank you,” he heard Clint say after a long stretch of silence. He held him tighter and leaned around to press a kiss to his jaw and not long after Clint was snoring lightly in his arms. 

  
  


+

  
  


“I have some ideas,” James said, looking out the window of his office as he spoke on the phone. “I can have them sent to you as long as you’re sure something like this isn’t beyond your capabilities.” 

_“Winter,”_ Dmitri said, coming into the room and James turned and held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. Dmitri nodded and took a seat on the couch. 

“Dmitri will bring it sometime today.” James hung up and turned to him. 

_“What will I bring and to whom?”_ James grabbed the folder off his desk and handed it to him and Dmitri opened it and flipped through. _“Oh, nice. The same man who made the coffee machine?”_ James nodded. 

_“You came in with something for me?”_

_“Hm? Oh, yes. Carol Danvers called. The apartment is ready whenever Natalia and Maria would like to move in.”_

_“Wonderful. Hopefully they’ll be at the bar tonight and we can give them the good news.”_

  
  


James also had other plans in mind for being at Clint’s bar. He was hoping Loki would dare to show his face. Feeling so helpless while Clint battled his inner demons only made James even angrier at Loki for adding to Clint’s burdens. He was really looking forward to confronting Loki. It would be just what he needed to unwind and let off a little steam. 

Only problem was, he wasn’t there. 

“Just how regular is he?” James asked, sitting at his usual spot at the bar. His seat was the last one on the far left side of the bar, close to the hallway that led to Clint’s office. Dmitri was beside him and across the room at a table were Maria and Natalia to whom James and Dmitri had already given the good news seeing as Carol wasn’t there tonight either. 

“Comes in about twice a week,” Phil told him. “Usually afternoons but sometimes evenings with one or two others. Sits over there.” He pointed to the very same booth James had sat in the day he confessed his feelings to Clint. James huffed. 

“Good to know. Thanks, Phil.” 

“No problem,” he said. Phil didn’t call him Mr Romanov because James didn’t like being called that unless someone was rendering services. He didn’t call him Winter because the only people who called him that were enemies, those who feared him and Dmitri because Dmitri was, well, Dmitri. He didn’t call him James because they certainly weren’t close enough for that so instead he always just settled for: “Sir.” 

James considered staying at the bar for a while longer but if the deer caught in headlights look he was getting from one of Clint’s other employees, Fitz, was any indication, they still hadn’t quite adjusted to James’ casual presence. 

James nodded to Phil and went to find Clint who was in the back room looking for a crate of tequila and he stayed back there with him and chatted. 

+

It was two days later that Loki showed up out of the blue. It wasn’t his normal time and he came alone, both very unusual. Clint tried not to read too much into that and instead carried on his conversation with Phil and Fitz, pretending he hadn’t even seen Loki. 

“Mr Barton,” Loki called out and Clint wished that wasn’t his name for a minute. 

He turned and walked over to him, his perception of him different now that he knew what he did. That he worked for James. That he had willingly given damning evidence against his own brother. That he was trying to take down the very man who had not only eliminated all other competition but was actually helping to bankroll his campaign. Sure, James was who he was but Loki was no better as far as virtue or morality went. 

“Mr Laufeyson,” Clint said, his hands crossed over his chest and he gave him a tight smile. 

Loki grinned, all teeth but it wasn’t friendly in the slightest. He leaned forward and laid his hat on the bar top, straightening his suit jacket as he slipped half into a barstool. He looked around at the full room and Clint wished James hadn’t had some important whatever with some fella in Midtown. He wished he were there. To knock Loki’s lights out. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Just passing by.” 

“You know, you just ‘pass by’ a lot. You live round here?” 

Loki scoffed like the idea personally offended him and then his face looked like he was offended. Clint surmised that Loki was offended. “Heavens no,” he said, definitely offended. “Fifth and sixty-third. On fifth, not on sixty-third.” 

Clint let out a low whistle but he wasn’t impressed. He doubted any home would ever impress him again. Especially now that James’ home _was_ his home. But still he played the part of the enamored poor man for Loki’s sake and if that rat bastard wasn’t just eating it up, a self-satisfied smile on his pale face. 

“Wow, quite the zip code you got there. What’d you do before running for mayor? Rob people?” 

Loki balked at the suggestion. “I was a lawyer,” he said firmly and louder than necessary, likely to keep anyone who had heard Clint’s idea from starting rumors. “For the court.” 

“Ooh, so you were Mr La-di-da. I see. Very fancy.” Clint looked to his left to see Alex Summers and Bobby Drake coming in to sit at the bar and then back to Loki. “Well, if there’s nothing you need, I have other cust—”

“You know, Mr Barton,” Loki said and Clint almost startled at the change in tone, in body language. He was almost hostile now, no longer trying to keep up that ‘one of the people’ facade. Clint stopped and stayed where he was, feeling that this might not be a sentence he wanted to miss. Oh, boy. He couldn’t wait to tell James. “What I said about cleaning up this city… you know it doesn’t have anything to do with what goes on at this establishment. Especially if you were to cooperate.” 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Of course I knew that. There would be no reason for it to.” 

Loki gave him a smile so patronizing, so condescending, that Clint even felt like stabbing him might be kind of fun. “You may be deaf,” he began and of all the fucking low blows, “but you’re not blind and, more to the point, neither am I. I know what this place is. I know you’d be shut down in an instant _and_ imprisoned if word were to get out to the authorities.” 

Clint was torn between wanting to glare and wanting to smile. Loki was the lowest of the low but Clint knew a certain someone with some police influence. He also knew just how angry James would be when he got home and told him about his day. Loki wasn’t safe and that was the only thought helping Clint keep a straight face. 

“But not to worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Though, I would assume a less understanding mayor might not extend to you the same kindness.” 

“You already know you’re a shoo-in, what are you threatening me for?”

“Threatening? No, I come with glad tidings of a city made free.” 

“Free from what.” 

“James Romanov.” 

Clint swallowed with some difficulty, averting his gaze towards no one in particular, especially since Loki immediately followed where Clint looked. Clint turned back to Loki. “Who’s that?” Back to playing dumb and hopefully he could give James an extra head start for whatever Loki had planned. 

“The man you so carelessly let frequent your bar. I know you know who I mean. Winter?” Clint’s pulse sped up. “The leader of the Russian mob?” 

“I don’t get into people’s business. Could you give me a descrip—”

Loki banged his fist on the counter and got the attention of a few others as well as Phil and also Natalia who was sitting behind him. He looked around and then lowered his voice. “You’re a bartender, for Christ’s sake. It’s your job to get into people’s business.” 

“Hm.” Clint smirked, letting out a small chuckle. “You’re beginning to cause quite the stir in my _establishment,_ Mr Laufeyson. I might have to ask you to leave.” 

Loki laughed, genuine and loud. “You will do no such thing if you value your liquor license. Tell me,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “why are you protecting him? What does he have over you?” 

“You said it yourself. You know what kind of establishment this is,” Clint lied easily and Loki studied his face for a moment before deciding Clint was telling the truth. 

“So he’s threatened to out you. Interesting,” Loki said and Clint could see the gears turning and thank goodness for the extra practice he had gotten with James and Natalia on how to do a proper poker face. He was incredibly proud of himself for supplying Loki with false information. “Good to know. Well, would you look at the time.” He didn’t look at a watch or a clock. “I have a debate tomorrow morning. Best turn in early. See you around, Mr Barton.” 

“Hopefully not, Mr Laufeyson.” 

Loki smirked and left. 

  
  


By the time Clint was leaving, it was late into the night. He decided to walk part of the way seeing as the weather was so pleasant and then he would get a cab the remainder of the way. Dmitri had dropped him off earlier and he’d seen no problem with that until now. Sure he could have called and he knew James would have come in a heartbeat but he also didn’t mind walking. It was a good chance to organize his thoughts. 

He didn’t notice it immediately. Or rather, he did but he just assumed he was being paranoid. He’d noticed an increase in paranoia since James had entered his life. He felt it was a fair exchange for what he got in return—a little more looking over his shoulder nowadays but James was worth every bit of suspiciousness. 

Now he was certain of it. He heard a shoe scuff and two seconds ago he had been alone. He turned a corner he did not need to and out of the corner of his eye he saw two men in suits not far behind him. He sped up and heard them speed up and then he turned another corner and then into an alley where he ducked behind some cardboard boxes. 

He heard the men come to a stop, talking amongst one another in a language he didn’t recognize and then they split up. Clint waited five minutes and then carefully moved out. 

He was four blocks from his hiding spot when he heard quickly approaching footsteps and then he took off at a dead sprint until he had enough of an advantage to look for another hiding spot, diving into the nearest thing he could find. 

He waited them out for a full hour, until he heard nothing but the rustle of trash on the street and stray cats in the alley. Until the wind had chilled enough that he wished for a jacket and once he was sure, he moved quickly and hailed the first cab he saw. 

“Clint, what the fuck? Where have you been? Are you al—why do you smell like trash, Clint?” James asked frantically and Clint had never seen James worried like that before. Sad, yes. Disbelieving, too much for Clint’s liking. Angry, yuh-huh loads. But worried? Frantic? 

James had a hand on either of Clint’s arms and Clint noticed Dmitri for the first time stood behind James, both still fully dressed and Dmitri was holding a gun. He holstered it and took a few steps forward, worry visible on his face as well. 

“I, uh, I was in a dumpster.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks warming with embarrassment and then with anger and James saw the change, and he waited, even more tense than before. “I was followed. Had to shake them. So I hid in a dumpster for an hour.” 

James wanted to laugh because it was so beyond what anyone else in their right mind would have ever done whilst simultaneously being the most Clint Barton thing ever to be done but he was so angry he could spit. 

He had been worried out of his mind when Clint had not come home at his usual time. More worried when he never called. And then frantic when he called Natalia to ask about him and she said he had left to go home two hours ago. 

Suddenly remembering his promise to keep her updated, he turned to Dmitri and told him to call her. Let her know Clint was safe.

“Let’s—Actually,” James said, dropping one hand from Clint and turning him towards the stairs gently, “why don’t you go take a shower and then come back down? You know I need to know everything.” 

Clint nodded. “Did you wanna join me?” 

It was tempting but James was too angry. Too angry to enjoy it, too angry to be sure he wouldn’t hurt Clint. “I can’t,” he said and Clint heard his knuckles crack as he balled them into a tight, angry fist and he understood. “But I’m so glad you’re safe.” He leaned in and kissed him and Clint headed upstairs. 

_“Whoever it was, I’m going to split their head op_ —” James was saying as Clint came into the living room in his pajamas now. James turned to him and held open his arm, sitting on the couch. Dmitri was across from him, a folder in his hands. 

Clint went over and sat, moving into James’ side. 

“Loki’s plan isn’t to cleanse the city of crime. Just of you.” Dmitri looked up at Clint, shocked. 

James swore. “Tell me everything.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets a visit. James gets a pet name. Clint gets a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> This is the second to last chapter. The next one will be an epilogue that will introduce a little of what happens in the next installment of The 1940s series, which will feature Stony & Winterhawk. I can’t give an exact date or time frame for when it would be hitting AO3 seeing as BlanketOfDeath and I are working on other projects at the moment but it WILL happen because we REALLY want it to, haha.

“Is that your ‘I just need to go downstairs and throw knives’ face or your ‘I just need to go throw knives at Loki’ face?” Clint asked. 

James was pacing the living room in front of the unlit fireplace, his knife in his hand and he twirled it between his fingers in a way that, if he didn’t know how furious James was, would be incredibly attractive. Honestly, it still was but Clint was doing his best to focus on other things. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” James said, his voice low. Even Dmitri wasn’t speaking, knowing it was better to just let James think and, Dmitri thought to himself, it was a testament to how much he loved Clint that he answered him at all. 

So Loki wanted him gone. James had expected disobedience. He had expected some pushback but he hadn’t expected a complete betrayal. It simply didn’t make sense. It went against the fact of life that you don’t bite the hand that feeds you. James put Loki in the position he was in now, James got rid of the competition, James was the one keeping Loki’s name and all his misdemeanors out of the papers. In return, Loki was having to make no changes to the policies and plans he had, he need only add to them. 

James had inadvertently made it all incredibly easy for Loki and Loki did not strike him as an uneducated person. In fact, he remembered telling Dmitri that Loki reminded him of himself. Or rather, how James used to be. The entire time they had first spoken, James got the sense that he was in the company of someone who knew exactly how to get their way at any given moment, someone who always had their best interests at heart and looked out for one person and one person only—themself. It simply did not make sense for Loki to do something like this knowing that James would find it. 

It was sloppy and that bothered him. It brought back that awful ominous feeling from a few weeks ago when Steve was discharged. 

What else was really bothering him was Loki keeping tabs on his whereabouts well enough that he could track him back to Clint’s bar, back to Clint. In all of this, his only regret was Clint’s involvement. 

He didn’t regret choosing Loki because he knew he was still the best candidate of the lot—which wasn’t actually a compliment seeing as everyone else was either old as dirt or hilariously incompetent. 

However, regardless of whether or not he was the ideal candidate, he had gone too far. Loki had threatened Clint, insulted him, _mocked_ him. James couldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t. Loki might not have known the extent of James’ relationship with Clint but that didn’t mean he hadn’t still crossed a line he never should’ve crossed. 

“The men who followed you,” James said, mentally preparing a list of Loki’s transgressions, trying to weigh out an appropriate punishment, “can you give a description of them? Something Dmitri and his men could work with?” Clint nodded. “Okay, in the morning.” 

“I can do it now,” Clint protested, turning to Dmitri but James could see it in his face and in the way he held his body. He was exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and a little of the brightness he loved so much was gone out of him. 

“You had a long night,” James said gently, coming over to sit down beside him. He put a hand on his knee and Clint covered it. “I’d rather you sleep.” 

Clint huffed out a sigh. “Okay,” Clint said, knowing he was right. He was tired from running and his body was sore from the way he had been crouched in the dumpster. He curled his fingers around James’ hand and stood, trying to pull him along with him but he didn’t move. “Not coming?” 

“Dmitri and I have some things to discuss,” James told him, looking over at Dmitri and he noticed for the first time that he too looked like a few hours of rest might just do him a world of good. He frowned and then Dmitri frowned, not understanding. 

“Nope,” Clint said and Dmitri looked away to hide his smile. “If you’re not sleeping, neither am I.” Clint and James locked gazes for a minute of silent tug-o-war until James gave in. 

“Fine. Let’s all sleep. You look like you need it too.” He looked over at Dmitri who, as if on cue, yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

He stood and cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. “I will take that offer before I lose it,” he told James with a small smile. “Goodnight to you both.” 

“Goodnight,” Clint and James both said at the same time, watching him leave the living room and hearing his footsteps on the stairs. 

James turned back to Clint and reached out to touch his face. Clint closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, letting out another sigh, this one of relief. He tilted Clint’s face as he leaned in to kiss him, deepening it and scooting closer. Clint’s hands immediately moved to James’ waist as they kissed, slow but intimate, passionate. 

When James pulled away he touched their foreheads together, keeping his eyes shut. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, pulling back to look at Clint, raising his other hand so both were cradling his face. “It’s not everyday you are chased down the street in the middle of the night.” James didn’t even want to think about what they would’ve done had they caught him. All it did was make him angrier and that was the last thing he needed. He would not confront Loki fueled by emotions and no logic or reason. He would channel this into a clearcut plan. 

“Surprisingly, I’m alright. Just glad to be home.” 

James’ hands dropped to Clint’s shoulders. “You’ll tell me if you’re ever not.” 

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I’m a big boy, I can handle scary situations.” 

“I know,” James said, his tone indicative of an apology though he never actually said the words. “But I also know it’s a lot. Being with me. The baggage that I have that you now have. And you didn’t even get to be eased into it.” 

“Easing in is for suckers,” Clint told him and was rewarded with a smile. “As the centuries old saying goes: can’t handle the Russian mob, don’t sleep with their boss.” 

“I’ve never heard that one. Who said it?” 

“Confucius.” 

  
  


+

  
  


James sat in the dark room, leaning forward in the chair, his knife in his hands to give him something to do. He spun it slowly between his fingers. 

He sighed quietly, looking at the window to see the soft hints of early morning light beginning to shine in through a gap in the curtains. He squinted to look at the clock on the wall. It was nearing seven, surely it was time to wake up but he would wait. James wouldn’t wake him. It would be better to let him sleep. 

James smiled when he heard the sheets rustling and then a soft groan of annoyance, likely at having to wake up. He leaned further forward and glanced over at the door and then back at the bed, still smiling. 

“Good morning,” James said to the yawning man who froze immediately. “How did you sleep?” James waited a beat and then spoke again. “Maybe he’s still asleep.” 

“Perhaps,” Dmitri said from the door where he was standing, arms over his chest watching the bed. 

Slowly Loki turned to lay on his back and looked first at Dmitri and then turned to his left to see James sat beside his bed, his knife glinting in the morning light. 

“Hello, Loki. I hear you’ve been asking for me. You have my number, why not just call?” James asked, his voice perfectly level and convivial. 

James loved moments like these. He had always been a fan of the psychological aspect of intimidation more so than the physical because he had always been on the smaller side, so he realized he would need to be more than the strongest guy in the room. Sometimes that would not be enough. 

He had to pick his opponents apart. Get it into their heads that they weren’t safe. Thankfully, by now his reputation and the many outlandish rumors about him did that all on their own but some days, like today, he still got to have fun with it because what was more terrifying, what would instill fear in a person more deeply, than the knowledge that nowhere was safe, that you weren’t even safe while you slept in your own bedroom? 

Not a lot. 

Loki paled as he turned his full attention to the incredibly terrifying sight that was James Romanov in his _bedroom_ toying casually with a very sharp looking blade. 

How he had gotten in, Loki had no idea. He had so many security measures in place. Yet he hadn’t heard a single sound. Somehow James had managed to bypass every single one and then managed to get into his room along with Dmitri and— 

Loki swallowed, feeling a tremor run through his body, as he wondered just how long James had been watching him sleep; if he had considered, or perhaps even gotten close to, killing Loki. 

“So, now you have my full attention. Speak.” James’ last word came out in a way that Loki was more accustomed to when dealing with James. It was a command, doused in acid. This lighthearted James was the scariest version of him yet. 

“I… I have not been asking for you,” he said slowly, trying to make it seem as though he were genuinely confused by the notion. 

James tsked. “I don’t have much patience for liars but luckily for you I’m in a good mood, so I’ll ask once more and then _I_ will talk: _what_ do you _want_?” 

Loki wracked his brain for anything that would even remotely improve his current situation and he came up with absolutely jackshit so he decided to just try his hand at lying again because telling the truth was only going to get him castrated, if not worse. 

“I didn’t— _ack_ ,” he choked as James’ hand shot out and closed around his neck with a strength Loki hadn’t expected. James tightened his grip, digging his thumb in hard, and Loki’s air supply was quickly cut off. 

James kept tightening gradually, staring Loki dead in the eye, his expression hard and cold. All James could see was Loki trying to intimidate Clint. Loki came after Clint Barton, of all people. It wasn’t that Clint was helpless or in need of anyone’s rescuing but he was so _good_ and James would be damned if he let a little worm like Loki get away with harassing him. 

Loki’s mouth was moving but no sound could escape and his vision was getting blurry around the edges. He was pulling at James’ hand but to no avail and only making James further tighten his grip. Loki was starting to turn a concerning shade of blue. 

_“Winter,”_ Dmitri warned and James sighed reluctantly, his nostrils flaring as he loosened his grip but did not entirely let go. Loki sucked in a deep, sudden breath and coughed, his eyes, a little bloodshot now, on James. 

James knew the limits to which human bodies could be pushed. It was must-have information in his line of work. He knew how long Loki could’ve gone and still come back for a discussion but he was so angry that he didn’t trust himself. So he asked Dmitri to stop him if he took it too far, which he almost had. 

“I knew I would have problems with you,” James said, releasing his neck and dusting his hands off as though Loki were filthy. He stood at the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest again as he glared down at him. 

Loki was still catching his breath, his mind seeming to finally realize the terrible, no-good situation he had gotten himself into. He was trapped and stuck in a room with a man he really ought not to have pissed off. He pushed himself into a sitting position in the bed, trying for anything to make him feel less helpless. 

“But,” James continued, brandishing his knife and Loki’s eyes zeroed in on it immediately, following its movement though all it did was remain in James’ hand as he spoke, “this was not what I imagined. Reluctance, independence, perhaps even the development of a conscience were all possibilities but I hadn’t expected outright betrayal.” 

Loki remained quiet. What else was he supposed to do? There was nothing he could say to fix any of this and he felt the current best course for self-preservation was to shut up and suck up. 

“And you know what I hate more than anything else?” Loki didn’t respond, he just watched James, his eyes still following the knife. “Disloyalty.” 

Loki’s heart rate sped up. “I—”

James clicked his tongue impatiently and Loki shut up. “I kill people who are disloyal because I have no use for them.” 

“But you can’t kill me,” Loki finally said, remembering finally that he wasn’t just any replaceable idiot lackey—he was going to be the mayor of New York soon. Sure James could just pull some man off the street and force him to do his bidding but the people of the city would likely riot and nobody wanted that. 

Loki felt some of the weight lift off his chest as he realized he was valuable and therefore safe. 

“You need me,” he told James with a smirk. 

James laughed. A loud, genuine laugh and so did Dmitri. “No, I really don’t,” he told him, the smile vanished, “you have no idea the kind of grip I have on this city. The people vote because I let them vote. I allow them the dignity of their choice, I simply provide the choices. It’s simple, Loki, let me break it down for you: I’m the boss and _you_ work for _me._ ” 

Loki stuttered and then shut his jaw with an audible clack, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. “I call bullshit.” 

“Call whatever you want. I don’t give a damn. All I need from you is for you to keep me happy and right now I am far fucking from it and there will be consequences.” 

“I don’t fear death,” he spat in a moment of bravery. Or stupidity. Funny how thin the line between the two is at any given moment. 

“Good for you,” James said with about as much enthusiasm as burnt toast, “because I never said I was going to _kill_ you. But I will make you regret it.” He raised the knife and used it to tilt Loki’s chin up, watching Loki try to swallow slowly to avoid being cut. “And, unfortunately for you, you’ve fucked up on two accounts.” 

“Anything else you think I’ve done is a lie and—” James grabbed Loki’s hand, pinning it onto the pillow beside his head, and he grabbed his ring finger and bent it until the stomach-turning sound of a crunch rang out. Loki’s sentence cut off as he cried out in pain. 

James sheathed the knife and leaned down closer, one hand tightening around his neck again and the other pinning Loki’s hand to the pillow, his broken finger already beginning to swell. He leaned close enough to whisper in Loki’s ear. “Listen carefully, if you ever threaten another friend of mine—”

“Friend?” Loki asked with a weak laugh, his hand throbbing, the pain radiating down his entire arm. “Barton said you were blackmailing him. Doesn’t sound like much of a friend.” 

“No, Clint is just smarter than you,” James said slowly and enjoyed watching the realization dawn on Loki’s face. “Now if you want to be even a fraction as intelligent as Clint is, you’ll tell me who it is trying to get rid of me.” 

“Why would you think there’s—” James delivered a sharp, precise jab square in the middle of Loki’s face, a soft click coming from his nose. It wasn’t broken but it would certainly hurt in the morning a lot worse than it did now. 

“I told you, I don’t have a lot of patience, Loki. The lying should stop. You must see it’s not working in your favor,” James said calmly, sitting down in the chair again, leaning back comfortably as he crossed his legs. “I may not think you’re too smart,” he continued and Loki was too busy wiping blood away from his lips to be offended, “but I do think you know how to survive, so doing something like this goes against that. Doesn’t make sense. Who are you working for? I won’t ask again.” 

Loki opened his mouth and James held up a hand to signal for him to stop and he did. 

“Loki, before you speak, keep in mind that I still want you to be mayor but you certainly don’t need both hands to do that job.” 

“I don’t have a name,” Loki said quickly, changing his mind immediately. He had been planning to lie but James did not seem to be bluffing. James watched for any facial markers or visual cues that would alert him to Loki lying. “It—”

“But whoever it is knows my name because until a few days ago, you addressed me as Winter. When you visited the first time, you asked for my name and were visibly upset when I didn’t give it,” James listed, narrowing his eyes, and Dmitri, as always, was impressed by the astuteness of his boss as he began connecting the dots, “meaning you really _didn’t_ know it. However, Clint said you planned to take down _James Romanov_ , not Winter.” 

“I-I-I don’t have a name. I swear.” 

“On? You don’t care about much. Swear on your daughter—”

“I don’t have a daughter.”

“—and if you’re _lying_ , we’ll pay Tess a visit too.” He wouldn’t. He didn’t involve minors but the bluff seemed to work. 

“You—how do you even know about her?” James didn’t deign to respond. “Fine. _Fine_. I swear on Tess. I never got a name. Just a letter with instructions, an envelope of cash and a promise to further my political aspirations.” 

“And you trusted this promise enough to do this to me?” 

“There was a phone number attached,” he said, his eyes darting to the knife but it stayed at James’ side. “I was told to call it, so I did. And John Roy Steelman answered. That was proof enough for me.” 

James’ expression never wavered but he was shocked. Who knew him by name _and_ had the personal phone number of the president’s chief of staff? As well as, apparently, an issue with James. It must’ve also been someone privy to the knowledge that James was working with Loki. Or he could be overthinking it, though overthinking had never steered him wrong before. 

It could be that this someone just knew James frequented Clint’s bar. Knew that perhaps the future mayor could persuade Clint to disclose any information he might have on James. That certainly didn’t narrow it down any but it did manage to quiet his worries. He truly did not like the idea of someone knowing his business. 

“Hm,” James said, huffing in annoyance. “Fine.” James dragged a hand through his hair, looking over at Dmitri. Loki let out a relieved sigh, his eyes going briefly to Dmitri as well who still stood at the back of the room. “However, we are not finished here. Dmitri.” 

Dmitri moved to the side and opened the door. Loki craned his neck to see who it was and frowned in confusion when she entered. 

“Clint is a dear friend of mine,” James said and it felt wrong, so, so wrong, “but I’m not the only person you offended by threatening him. Meet Natalia. His wife.”

Natalia came in closer and gave Loki the same kind of wild smile James had had on his face just a few moments ago. “Hello, Loki,” she said, her American accent perfect. 

Loki sat up as well as he could. “What is she going to do? Lecture m—” Loki was cut off for the millionth time in an hour as a small, sharp blade embedded itself in his headboard an inch from his head. He swallowed dryly. 

James wanted to be the one to inflict the pain so badly but for one, he didn’t want to put ideas in Loki’s head that obviously weren’t there—that he and Clint were more than _dear_ _friends_ —and he didn’t want to take all of the vengeance when Natalia had just as much of a claim to it as he did. 

“We’ll be downstairs,” James said to Natalia, handing her his knife. “I assume he has some decent tea. Just come down when you’re ready.” Natalia nodded. 

“I surely will,” she said, moving closer to Loki’s bed as James and Dmitri slipped out but left the door ajar. 

“Oh, one more thing,” James said, pulling himself back into the room with a hand hooked around the doorframe, “you had Clint followed.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Loki said quickly, looking between James and Natalia, knowing what kinds of pain James was capable of inflicting with minimal effort and not sure about Natalia yet but justifiably afraid. 

“Names. Now.” Loki listed them both immediately. “Thanks. Just know that if the people I find don’t match the descriptions Clint gave, I will be back and if you think this visit was unpleasant, well.” Loki swallowed dryly and James disappeared after giving him a bright, terrifying smile. Loki shuddered as he heard James and Dmitri laughing on their way downstairs. 

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you get the joke?” Natalia asked, Loki’s eyes going back to her. 

  
  
  


By the time they were leaving Loki’s, James felt like it was a morning well spent. He felt productive. Not only had he made it clear to Loki exactly how their arrangement worked but he had also established some guidelines: no more working for the mystery man, no more harassing Clint or even breathing in his direction, and he would continue working for James until such time as James no longer needed his services. 

James also made it clear that a swift and painless death would most definitely _not_ be the punishment for disobeying any of these rules. It would be another round of two hours of fun! Well, it had certainly been fun for James and Natalia. He wasn’t quite sure that’s how Loki would describe it but he would live and he wouldn’t even need hospitalization, so he definitely got off easy. 

_“Where to?”_ Dmitri asked from the front seat of the car while James slowly cleaned the blood from his knife in the backseat. 

_“Natalia?_

_“I think Clint would like to hear the good news,”_ she said, checking her dress for any blood stains. _“And it’s been awhile since I’ve had your cooking._ ” She grinned and James chuckled. 

_“Let’s go home, Dmitri.”_ Dmitri turned right at the next light and headed to the house. _“How are you and Maria liking the new place?”_

_“We love it and the neighbors are a definite improvement. Maria and Carol are lovely,”_ Nat told him. 

_“Oh nice. I’m glad to hear that. I had worried about you before asking Clint to move in. I am sorry I did not check in before I did.”_

_“No harm done and no need for apologies. Thank you all the same for what you’ve done.”_

He scoffed quietly. _“There’s no need to thank me for helping you find a new apartment. I would have done that even if I wasn’t the reason you needed to relocate.”_

_“Well, actually that’s not what I meant.”_

He raised an eyebrow, turning to her slightly. _“Then what for?”_

_“How happy you make him.”_

He laughed, shaking his head. _“Believe me,”_ he said with a heavy sigh, _“it’s not a one-sided thing.”_

  
  


When they got to the house, they headed for the living room in search of Clint and when they didn’t find him, they spoke for a few minutes and then Natalia and Dmitri headed for the kitchen and James could hear them rummaging through the fridge as he headed upstairs, taking them two at a time. He hadn’t seen Clint all morning. They had gone to Loki’s around three in the morning, sneaked in and stayed there until well after ten and now finally he was home and all he wanted to do was— 

He pushed open the door to see Clint. He had expected him to be asleep but he was far from it. 

“Saw the car pull up,” Clint said, sitting on the bench at the end of the bed. He smiled up at James, his head tilted to the side. He was leaning back, gently swinging his leg back and forth. He looked fresh from a shower, his blond hair darker on his head and slicked back and honest to god James just wanted to lick him because he was also fully naked and too beautiful for words.

“Jesus,” James breathed out, his eyes sweeping over the sight in front of him. After a long morning, especially one spent in the company of Loki, this was a most welcome surprise. James’ mouth felt dry and one of his knees buckled but he caught himself. 

He moved forward as if he wasn’t even controlling his own body, his hands moving up to remove his waistcoat, tie and then begin unbuttoning his shirt and he tossed them all in a direction, which direction he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

Almost to Clint, James remembered having company downstairs. Well, Natalia. Dmitri lived there.

“I—one second.” 

“I’ll give you fifteen,” Clint said, his hands reaching out for James but dropping back to his thigh with a soft slap. James did his best not to get distracted by the way that slap sounded but he was only human and suddenly his pants were much too tight. 

He swallowed and headed for the door, opening it and calling down over the stairs. _“Eat without me. Clint and I are going to nap.”_

 _“Nap my ass,”_ Natalia called back and James couldn’t help his chuckle. _“We will go out for a meal. Enjoy yours.”_

James didn’t even respond— _couldn’t_ —he had to get back to Clint and he did, slamming the door shut behind him because he hadn’t the self-control to do so gently. All his self-control was devoted to not attacking Clint with his mouth. 

“You, sweetheart, are wearing _way_ too much clothing,” Clint said, reaching out for him and James went, letting Clint undress him.

Clint sat back down onto the bench and started working on James’ belt, quickly getting it unfastened, then his trousers were unzipped and falling down around his legs. 

James’ hand automatically went to the back of Clint’s head but then he stopped and pulled back, not even sure where that willpower came from. “I want _you_ ,” James told him and Clint wasn’t picky. He smiled, getting up onto the bed and spreading his legs wide. 

James moved onto the bed, leaning over him to get the oil when Clint stopped him and took his hand, guiding him down and James let out a quiet mixture of a gasp and a moan. 

“Already ready for you.” 

Clint Barton was going to be the death of James and he was very content to die that way. 

  
  


Spent but now clean, James moved down Clint’s back, his lips pecking along his spine, down to where the blanket stopped and then he moved it aside, further and kissed the dimples Clint had in his lower back right. 

“If you’re trying for round three, I’mma need a minute,” Clint mumbled and James, who was pressing gentle kisses to his shoulder now, chuckled. 

“Can’t a fella kiss the fella he loves without it being about sex?” he asked and Clint laughed, rolling onto his stomach and pulling James down, scooting until he could comfortably lay his head on his chest. 

“How was your… talk? With Loki.” 

He hummed, pressing a kiss to Clint’s hair. “Informative.” 

“That good or bad?” 

“A little of both. I may have a bigger problem on my hands but for the time being, Loki is no longer a worry.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and James made a dismissive sound. 

“You did absolutely nothing wrong. I told you I had a bad feeling,” he reminded him. “I suppose this is why. But like I said, the immediate issue is resolved. Loki won’t be bothering you anymore.” 

“Is that neat mob slang for ‘I left him bleeding in a ditch somewhere’ because I really wouldn’t mind if you had.” 

James laughed, his fingers lightly caressing Clint’s arm. “No, I left him in his bed. All of his limbs intact. And most of his blood. Though I did not see him again after Natalia went in.” 

“I—what! Not only did you ambush that poor unsuspecting bastard in his _bed_ but you unleashed Nat on him? I am very glad I’m on your good side,” he said with a laugh. 

“Me too,” James agreed, his fingers dipping into the space between Clint’s arm and torso, tickling and Clint squirmed. “What did you get up to?” 

“Oh you know, full day.” James was already smiling. “Woke up, went back to sleep, tried again to wake up, succeeded, still can’t work that damn coffee machine so I had some toast and came back to sleep and then I started missing you. _Really_ missing you.” 

“Oh, you made it very clear how much you missed me,” he told him, pressing another kiss to his hair, nuzzling his nose into the soft dark blond locks and closing his eyes. “What a thing to come home to.” 

“Hey, speaking of nice sights and beating up Loki,” Clint said and James smiled because what possible connection could he be about to make, “you ever choked anyone out with these things?” He reached down and pressed a finger into James’ thigh. 

“Once or twice. Why? Like the idea of that?”

Clint snorted. “I mean, what a way to go.” James laughed. 

  
  


+

  
  


“Hey, Bucky,” Clint said as he came downstairs into the kitchen a few days later. Dmitri was in the basement throwing punches at one of the sandbags and James tilted his paper down to look over at Clint who was grinning. “I cannot believe you just answered to that.” 

Halfway through Clint’s sentence, realization dawned on James and he frowned, lifting the paper again. “You’re not calling me that.” 

“Oh, why not?” 

“No, Clint.” 

“Please.” 

James laughed. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. 

“I’m gonna call you that whether you like it or not.” He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down beside James, knocking their knees together. 

He lowered the paper again to level him a glare and Clint waved it away dismissively. 

“You don’t scare me, _Bucky._ ” James held the glare. “Besides, you gave me a nickname based on something about me you like.” 

James scoffed. “You really think sunshine and _buck-tooth_ are the same? Really?” Clint set his shoulders and stuck his chin out stubbornly, prepared to debate this into the ground if need be and James didn’t understand why he was so stuck on this particular nickname. 

“Maybe I _like_ that about you! You can’t read my mind,” Clint argued, picking up his toast and taking a bite. 

“You like the fact that I was buck-toothed?” 

“ _Was_?” Clint asked around a mouthful of toast, crumbs falling onto his shirt but James couldn’t even focus on his personal human disaster trying to eat his breakfast when there was the more pressing fact that Clint apparently thought he was _still_ buck-toothed. His glare intensified. “I mean, uh, _were_. Definitely were. Yeah, you’ve grown into them now. They’re teeth. Normal teeth.” 

James started folding his paper, shaking his head. He put it down on the table and finished his coffee. “And you still think you can be romantic?” 

“I could be if you’d stop shooting down all my great ideas, Bucky.” 

James was standing and froze, his eyes sliding to Clint, the glare reaching critical levels of James being annoyed but Clint wasn’t about to give in. He liked doing the thing most people would never get the chance to—like pushing James’ buttons—and he knew that no matter how much he pretended to feel otherwise, James liked being tested. By Clint at least. 

“You’re so damn annoying,” James said, putting his plate in the sink and heading upstairs to get dressed, stopping first to press a kiss to the top of Clint’s head. 

“I love you too, Buck.” 

“Fuck off,” he heard James call in a sing-song voice from the bottom of the stairs and Clint laughed. This was going to be fun. 

  
  


James walked into the laboratory, looking around himself at all of the half-finished designs hanging haphazardly on the wall, supported by a few pushpins. In another corner piled on a rickety looking table and some pushed underneath it were prototypes. James saw the prototype for his coffee machine and a few other inventions he had been present for the making of. 

Dmitri stood behind him looking at the blueprints, arms crossed over his chest. He hated coming to Reeds’ apartment. It was always too cold and too bright. Everything was thrown around everywhere and it irked Dmitri, the constant chaos of it all. 

Reed came out of the back with a tray in his hands and on it two identical devices and a third device James didn’t understand the function of. 

“Okay,” he said, setting the tray down on a high metal table and James walked over to stand on the other side to Reed. “I still have a few bugs to work out of it, so I’d estimate about another week before they are truly ready but you can test them out if you’d like. There’s no danger.” 

Dmitri stepped forward when James reached out for them. _“James,”_ he said, _“let me.”_ James was about to protest when he saw the genuine worry on Dmitri’s face. It wasn’t just a sense of duty, he really did not want anything to happen to him. James held his gaze a second longer and then dropped his hand and moved back, making way for Dmitri. 

“What do I do?” Dmitri asked. 

“Here,” Reed said, picking up the first one and coming around to stand behind Dmitri. “I’ll get it situated. You just tell me how it feels and if it’s clear.” Dmitri nodded and Reed quickly got them on, pressing a button and they came to life, everything intensified. “How is it?” he asked softly. 

“Clear. Very clear.”

“Try bending over. See if they hold securely.” Dmitri did as he was told and there was a little movement, which he reported back to Reed, but no fear of them easily becoming dislodged or falling off. “How’s the comfort?” 

“I could see soreness setting in after an hour or two,” he said. 

“Perhaps small amounts of cushioning just here and here,” James said, indicating with his finger to Reed. “Or would that impact the hold of the device?” 

“It might but I’m sure I could find ways around that. Maybe even use a different material. My only worry is how the wiring and battery component will interact with the lighter material.” 

“Compromise comfort not safety, Richards,” James said firmly. “It’s already uncomfortable just as long as these don’t _increase_ discomfort.” 

“Oh, definitely not. I wore the ones you brought me for a few hours and these are for sure an improvement.” 

“All I need to know.” 

Dmitri took it off and placed it down on the tray again and James indicated with his chin towards the unidentified device. 

“Oh! No longer a need to physically carry the battery. This will allow it to charge overnight and hold enough power to get through the day, provided there’s no tampering with the device requiring more charge than necessary.” 

“I’m impressed,” James said. “You’ve done very well.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“A week’s time you said? Or longer? An early deadline won’t impress me if the device malfunctions. I’d rather you take your time and be able to give me guarantees.” 

“Two weeks,” he said quickly. “But only so I can have the time to test the secondary material.” 

“Alright. I’ll see you in two weeks then. Call me if you encounter any problems.” 

  
  
  


Fitz was frozen in place across the room, a rag in his hand that he was using to clean tables and a bottle of cleaner in the other. His eyes were wide and focused on one person.

James. 

It was later that same day and James was sitting at the bar. They were open but it was too early in the day for even the most dedicated lushes to come in so it was just Clint, James and the rest of the _Hawkeye_ staff. Needless to say, knowledge of James’ identity had quickly spread and his presence was not the most relaxing. Especially since he’d walked in behind Clint, sat down and hadn’t spoken since. He had just watched Clint go about his business while he sipped the water Clint gave him. 

He had started watching Fitz clean when Clint disappeared to the back for something inventory related and when the young man looked over, James hadn’t averted his gaze. In his defense, he was daydreaming by the time Fitz noticed he was being watched and when he came to and saw the terrified expression, it was too entertaining to give in. 

Clint came out carrying a box of bottles and sat them on the bar top, letting out a huff of breath at the effort. He turned to James and smiled and then it fell as he followed his steady gaze across the room to where Fitz was frozen. 

Clint sighed. “James,” he said chidingly. 

James kept his face serious for another second and then a smile crept onto it and he turned to Clint, feigning innocence. “Yes?” 

“Leave Fitz alone.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, sipping his water. Clint gave him an unimpressed look and turned to Fitz who was still focused on James. 

“Is he going to hurt me?” Fitz said, getting frustrated. Or scared. Clint wasn’t sure. Fitz was an interesting case when it came to showing how he felt. “Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, having found his voice and the ability to talk directly to James. 

“No,” James called back. Fitz eyeballed him for a second longer and James behaved but only because Clint gave him another look. James looked away from Fitz and back to Clint. Fitz sighed loudly and went to clean a table near the door. 

It was fascinating watching Clint work. He was so focused, so sure of what he was doing. It wasn’t that James thought he was capable of anything less but he was normally so easily distracted and clumsy. Spilling food on himself, tripping over seemingly nothing or his own feet, word-vomiting and so on. James found it endearing but it was the polar opposite of Clint right at that moment. Not only had he been reorganizing and transporting fragile items with the greatest of ease and grace but he’d also been so uncharacteristically quiet that James almost asked if he was okay until he noticed that he was quietly mumbling to himself as he checked stock, cleaned utensils, noted repairs that needed to be made and so on. 

Fitz skirted around James to get to the stockroom and James let out a quiet chuckle. 

“You enjoy that?” 

“Well, you’re busy working. I have to entertain myself somehow,” he answered. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were _bored._ ” He came over to lean on the counter in front of James and smiled that crooked, mischievous smile James loved so much. 

James leaned forward and quickly kissed him since the bar was empty. Even Fitz hadn’t returned. He licked his lips as he sat back. 

“That certainly helps. But I’m not bored. Watching you is fun.” 

Clint snorted, going back to his task. “Fun, huh? You just enjoying the view?” 

“Well, of course. I owe whoever made your trousers a few thank yous.” 

  
  


It didn’t take long for the customers to begin milling in. James had since moved away from his usual spot at the bar to sit at a booth in the far corner but Clint had set him up there because it had the best vantage point of the whole bar. Clint often sat there as well. 

James was tucked behind a newspaper, a gin rickey in front of him and a small bowl of peanuts as well that Clint had poured for him. Every now and then he glanced over the newspaper at people who entered, especially the ones Clint greeted by name, which, surprisingly, was a lot of people. 

At the table with him were Maria and Natalia but they were having their own conversation which James didn’t mind at all, he was happy to enjoy his drink and keep an eye on Clint. He knew he was alright but he also knew that someone somewhere wanted James gone. It wasn’t shocking, it was only worrisome because Loki had gone through Clint so who else knew about him? Who else might make that connection? 

Clint kept glancing over at James. Not many people paid him much attention. Not many people knew who he was other than obviously a very well off individual judging by his suit. Clint caught Fitz watching him every now and then and it made him laugh a little at how scared of James he was. It had been a while; Clint would’ve thought he’d be used to him by now. Phil certainly was. And Mack. 

It was a peaceful night at the bar. It had been that way the last few weeks ever since Clint had finally had enough of Grant Ward and his crew coming in and harassing Clint’s staff and other customers. He hadn’t seen them since so hopefully they had found another bar to ruin. 

“What can I get you?” Clint asked Sam who was looking at the alcohol on the wall and he tapped his chin in thought. He gave Clint a cocktail name after a while. “Oh, hey.” Clint stopped Phil who was carrying some empty boxes. “Wilson’s drink order is more your specialty than mine. Here. I’ll take those out, you got the drink?” 

“No problem,” Phil said, turning to Sam to hear the drink. 

Clint carried the boxes around back into the back alley where all their trash went, whistling a tune as he did. He was stacking them neatly against the wall when he heard footsteps into the alley and looked up to see Grant Ward, Cain Marko and Victor Creed. 

“You guys really gonna jump me in an alley because I kicked you out of my bar? Is your pride hurt that much? Fuck off,” Clint said, continuing to stack boxes. 

“Maybe it is,” Cain said. 

“Or maybe we just don’t like you very much,” Grant added. 

“Damn, there go my weekend plans. I’ll have to find new friends now,” Clint muttered, dusting his hands off as he put the last box on top. He looked at each of them in turn, stopping on Grant because he has always seemed like the leader of the bunch. “Any other heartbreaking confessions for me or are we done here?” 

“We don’t care much about getting back into your bar. It’s the principle of the matter,” Cain said. 

“You can’t go around just disrespecting people like that, Barton,” Grant said. 

“I’ll remember that the next time I come across people worth respecting.” 

Victor threw the first punch and Clint moved out of the way. He was a big guy and he was fast but it wasn’t like Clint hadn’t been waiting for one of them to start swinging. 

Grant and Cain rushed him, pinning him to the wall and Victor landed one solid punch to his stomach. As he came in for the next, Clint, using the two holding him for support, lifted his legs and kicked out, his feet landing squarely in Victor’s chest, sending him back against the wall. There was a muffled crack as his head hit the brick and then Grant hit him again, same place so it really hurt. 

“You’re gonna regret that,” Grant said, hitting him again, this time a solid blow to his jaw. 

Clint glanced over at him and then his eyes focused on something behind him. “No,” Clint said, spitting blood on the ground, “you will.” 

“This is private business, pal. Get your ass back inside unless—” Grant was cut off as a gunshot rang out in the alley and he fell to the ground, groaning in pain. 

James moved closer, his gun pointed at Cain. “Let him go or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.” 

Cain, never having been the absolute brightest, rushed James who, to Clint’s surprise, holstered the gun and instead pulled back and hit Cain with all he had. Clint heard the crack. That was a broken nose. He was all too familiar with that sound himself. 

Cain staggered back, howling and holding his face and James stalked forward, sending a powerful kick to his jaw and knocking him onto the ground. Victor, obviously thinking his big ass was invisible, tried to come at James from the side but was yanked roughly to the ground by Dmitri, who knocked him out with one well-aimed blow to the side of his head. 

James stood over Cain and Grant. He brushed a piece of fallen hair away from his face, folding his arms over his chest. 

“You fucking shot me,” Grant snarled. 

James didn’t respond other than to say, “Apologize to Clint. Now.” 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Grant laughed and James kicked him in the knee where he had shot him. 

“Everyone, hold it right there! Hands in the air,” a cop yelled as he rounded the corner with his partner flanking him, guns raised. 

Grant laughed, so sure he was about to make it out of this situation as the victim, but then James turned around slowly to face the cops, a glare on his face so strong that Clint didn’t even want it directed at him. 

“I said, hands in the—fuck. N-never mind,” the cop stuttered. He dipped his head almost in a bow and then stepped back out of the alley, not even making eye contact with James anymore. It took a moment before the second cop realized what was happening, recognized who was in the alley, and then he too was stepping away. “Sorry, sir.” 

Grant watched them leave, his eyes wide, and once they were gone he looked up at James who smiled down at him. Clint came to stand beside him. 

“I think he asked you to apologize to me.” 

James laughed, resisting the desire to wrap his arm around Clint’s waist and pull him close. Dmitri walked over but stood a few feet behind them just in case Cain woke up. 

Grant didn’t know what was going on but he wasn’t stupid. The cops hadn’t even wanted to enter the alley after seeing whoever this was. The cops had _apologized_ after seeing whoever this man was. 

“Sorry,” Grant blurted out. 

“Does that work for you?” James asked Clint. 

“No. It’s lacking a certain _je ne sais quoi,”_ he answered. James chuckled and so did Dmitri from behind them. “Maybe _respect_.” 

James knelt down, pulling out his knife from the other side to where his gun was, placing it at the base of Grant’s jaw. Victor watched, horrified, as James pressed down and Grant flinched. 

“Under here,” James said calmly, pushing the knife again against his neck and then relaxing it, “is your carotid artery. You _will_ bleed out and die in ten minutes if Clint isn’t satisfied with your next apology, so try again.” 

Grant swallowed carefully, not trying to accidentally get himself cut. He finally managed an apology Clint found suitable, as did Cain, and Victor they left on the ground unconscious. James stood up straight and put the knife away. 

“You come back here again and it will be the last thing any of you ever do. Understand?” Normally, James would have just offed them right then and there but he did not like the idea of killing in front of Clint. He got the sense that Dmitri didn’t either because James knew exactly how hard Dmitri could hit and a simple knockout was definitely him pulling his punches. 

“Loud and clear,” Grant managed, still clutching his knee, blood trickling between his fingers. 

James inhaled deeply and turned to Clint. “Anything else?” Clint shook his head. James stepped over Grant who winced and Clint followed him, Dmitri waiting, his hand on his gun, until Clint and James were inside. 

“Go,” Dmitri said. “And take him with you.” 

Cain helped Grant up and then went to grab Victor. Dmitri watched them limp their way out of the alley and then headed inside. 

“Are you alright?” James asked once they were inside. They went to Clint’s office where he made Clint sit on his desk while James checked his injuries. A little bruising around his ribs but nothing broken, his lip was split but he wasn’t in that much pain, he said, though James would keep an eye on him. He might even have Sarah round for some tea to give Clint a more skilled yet inconspicuous once over. 

“Yeah, more irritated than anything else. Thank you,” he said, leaning forward to catch his lips and wince as he pulled away. 

James frowned, lifting his hand to Clint’s jaw. “My _solnyshko,”_ he said softly, hating to see him in pain. 

Dmitri headed back out to sit with Natalia and Maria, having arrived at the _Hawkeye_ only a little while ago and he wanted to finish hearing about how Maria was settling in. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” James asked, using both hands to fix Clint’s hair as he spoke. 

“Mind what?” 

In his mind, he knew Clint could handle himself just fine. He was a soldier and more than that a survivor. He was sure he could’ve even dealt with Loki on his own but the thing was, he didn’t have to. James was more than happy to inflict bodily harm on anyone who so much as looked at Clint the wrong way. He just hoped Clint didn’t feel like James thought he was weak. 

“Me taking over like that.” 

Clint laughed. “Seriously?” He grabbed one of James’ hands. “You think you protecting me upsets me?” 

“I know you can take care of yourself.” 

“Yeah, me too but I like it when you burst in all guns blazing. It’s very—” He kissed him. “—attractive.” He lifted his arms to drape them loosely around James’ neck. “Makes me feel loved, not belittled.” 

James smiled. “Good.” 

“Hey, the cops turning tail like that? When they saw you? Bad ass, James Romanov. _Bad ass_.” 

+

  
  


“Where are we going?” Clint asked as they sat in the car, Dmitri driving. He had called Phil about going into work but Phil told him they really didn’t need him and he could continue hanging out with his trigger-happy fella if he wanted. And much to absolutely no one’s surprise, Clint very much wanted to continue being with James. 

He was watching out the window now, squinting as he searched for anything he recognized. It was strange being lost in his own town but despite having lived in New York for most of his life there were still so many parts he had never seen. This neighborhood, for example. 

“I told you it’s a surprise,” James said, his head leaned back and eyes closed. 

“I know but… where _are_ we?” Clint let out a dramatic gasp and James cracked open one eye to look over at him, a blossoming headache ruining his day. “You better not have taken me to Jersey.” 

James chuckled. “We’re still in New York, Clint.” 

Clint huffed, mildly annoyed. Only mildly because he knew at the end of this would be something for him. James liked to surprise him and so far, his surprises had yet to flop. Clint always liked them but still he wished he at least knew where he was. Why would the location also be private? 

“Can I get a hint for a kiss?” 

“Do you not know what a surprise is?” 

“I have a vague idea of its meaning, why?” 

James laughed. “Listen, I promise you’ll like it. Just be patient.” 

“Patience and I don’t mix.” 

The car pulled around to a battered building. It was a short red-brick building with a fence coming out from the side that seemed to go all the way around and to the back. 

Dmitri got out and opened the door and they slid out. Clint looked up and gasped. 

“ _James_. Is this a shelter?” 

“Yes.” 

“With animals?” 

“No, rocks.” 

“Don’t ruin this moment with your corny jokes, please.” 

“ _Corny_ ,” he exclaimed. 

“Are we gonna go in there?” 

“That was the plan.” 

Clint headed for the door and went in. Inside there was a young woman standing at the desk scribbling something down on a piece of paper and then she slipped it into a folder that had a picture of a dog attached to it. 

She looked up and smiled. “Hello. Here to adopt or here to drop off?”

“Adopt, hopefully,” James said and felt Clint practically vibrating with excitement beside him. 

A few days ago, Clint had brought up the idea of a pet. He hadn’t come right out and said he wanted one but it was not the first time they had had that conversation. This time he asked if James had ever had any—he hadn’t—and if he could get one, what he would want—he hadn’t thought about it. Then Clint went on to again talk about how wonderful dogs were and to compare James to a cat. James had been mildly offended that he didn’t get to be compared to Clint’s favorite animal until Clint began the comparison and James understood. 

It had been playing on his mind since then that perhaps Clint was dropping hints. Maybe he just loved them but maybe he might want one. They had enough space. More than enough. And there was a backyard so they wouldn’t have to worry about walking it. James already knew a cat wasn’t what Clint wanted though now he was curious about what having one would be like seeing as he was so similar to them. 

James was hesitant about a pet at first but now seeing the joy on Clint’s face as they headed to the kennels, the hesitancy all but melted away. Anything that made Clint that happy was worth trying. Dmitri had been secretly very excited too. He hadn’t said anything to James but James had overheard them talking in the kitchen one evening about having a dog. How could James dismiss a possibility to make two of his favorite people happy? 

“You two go look, I’ll be here,” James said and Dmitri did not hesitate to grab Clint’s arm and pull him along as the friendly shelter worker introduced them to all their dogs. 

“Clint, look at that one!” Dmitri said, pointing to a curly little puppy that looked like fried chicken and was watching them, wagging its tail. 

“Aw,” Clint cooed and they continued on, wanting to give each dog the same amount of consideration. “Wait. Stop,” Clint said as they headed on to the next one. 

There was a medium-sized yellow labrador at the back of one of the cages. One of the only dogs that didn’t immediately come up to the fence to greet them. It stayed in the back, tail-tucked and head down, watching them from below. It looked terrified. 

“What’s,” Clint bent to try and identify its gender, “his story?” 

“Unsure. He was brought in by a cop who found him in a ditch as a puppy. He was already missing the eye, we did our best to patch him up. He’s always been timid but a real sweetheart.” 

“Does he have a name?” 

“Well, the cop who found him said he was going to work on a new route due to road construction and just happened to spot the pup when he stopped to close his trunk that was open. Said the pup was real lucky all that happened or else he would’ve missed him.”

“So you called him Lucky?” Dmitri asked. She nodded. 

“Lucky,” Clint repeated, his fingers hooked onto the chain link fence in front of him as he peered in. He kneeled down to Lucky’s height and the pup came a little closer, his head still bowed and movements incredibly slow. James watched from behind them as Dmitri dropped down beside Clint. “Come here, buddy,” Clint coaxed. 

Lucky moved forward a little more and James turned to the young woman, Kate, and asked with a knowing smile, “Would you mind starting the paperwork for Lucky?” 

Kate grinned. “Right away, sir.” 

“I can’t believe you got us a dog,” Clint said in the backseat of the car, Lucky curled up nervously on his lap, shaking. “It’s okay, buddy,” Clint said soothingly. 

Lucky was about one and a half years old, they estimated, and just under thirty pounds. They bought him some food and toys at the shelter once Clint and Dmitri were done cuddling him. He had been apprehensive when Kate opened his gate but slowly they convinced him to come over and after a few gentle pats, he had pressed himself against Clint’s knees, looking back at him over his shoulder. Kate told them that meant he liked them. 

“I’m glad you found one you liked,” James said, reaching over to pet Lucky, who turned to look at James. 

“I’m more surprised I only took one,” Clint laughed. 

“Let me ease into this one and then maybe we can get another. I’m already worried about you and Dmitri fighting over him,” James said, joking but also a little bit serious. 

“Never,” Dmitri called from the front as he pulled into the driveway of their home. “We’ve already drafted a schedule.” James laughed. 

Dmitri smiled as he thought about that. _Their_ home. It made sense to him that James would automatically extend the invitation to Clint and despite their years together and the many nights he already spent on the home, he still hadn’t expected it when it came. And even now, a few months into living with him, with them both now, James’ utter lack of hesitation to have him stay warmed his heart. 

Inside, Clint put Lucky down but he didn’t run off to explore and sniff, he stayed pushed back against Clint’s legs and Dmitri dropped down to pet him and press a kiss on top of his head. He wrinkled his nose. 

“Perhaps a bath is in order,” he said. Clint raised an eyebrow and Dmitri laughed. “Today is _your_ day.” 

James shook his head, smiling fondly as he left them in the entranceway to discuss who would bathe Lucky. 

Upstairs he changed out of his suit and into his home clothes, splashing water on his face and then heading back down to find them still in the living room, sitting on the floor with Lucky between them, still arguing over who would bathe him. 

“Clint, you bathe him,” James said to settle it, going over to the alcohol cabinet to pour himself a drink. He took a few sips, coming over to sit on the couch and Lucky turned to him and then slowly came over to sniff his leg. 

“I thought you loved me,” Clint said in mock-betrayal. 

“I do but you two couldn’t decide. I’m helping,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes again as Lucky moved in to sniff other things in the living room and Dmitri stood, extending a hand to Clint to pull him up. 

“Rude,” Clint said, picking Lucky up. “Can you at least bring the bath stuff, you lazy cretin?” Dmitri laughed, grabbing Lucky’s bags of stuff and following Clint to one of the guest bathrooms on the second floor. 

“If you need help, that’s why you have each other,” James called after them. 

“Lazy!” Clint yelled back. 

  
  


It was almost an hour later that they got him washed and dried. He took off the moment they opened the bathroom door and headed back downstairs to where James had fallen asleep on the couch, jumping up beside him. James didn’t startle. He woke slowly, his eyes sliding to the dog and then he rested his hand on Lucky’s back, closing his eyes again. 

“Hey, is Lu—aww,” Clint cooed at the sight of them on the couch together. Dmitri came in a second later and nearly bumped into Clint who held up a finger to his lips and pointed to them. 

“He’s going to love him. We all know it,” Dmitri said, disappearing to find a snack. 

  
  
  


+

  
  


Dmitri turned the stove top off, taking the tea kettle away from the flames to pour the hot water into two glasses with tea bags waiting. He added milk and sugar to one glass and nothing to the other and carried both into the living room, setting it down carefully. 

“Here’s your monstrosity,” he said, handing the milk tea to Dugan who sat next to him, his arm still in a sling for another two weeks due to how many places it had broken in. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said, taking a sip. 

“So you popped the question,” Dmitri said, grinning over at him and Dugan rolled his eyes but smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah I did. She knew it was comin’ too. I love that girl with everything I got,” he said. Just a few days ago he had proposed to his longtime girl, Julie, and now the wedding preparations began. Julie was on top of most everything but Dugan was left to make the preparations for most of the groom’s side of things on his own. 

“And she loves you too, you big softie.” 

He expected Dugan to mock him back but instead he just smiled, going a little pink in the cheeks. Dmitri was glad to see his friend so happy and in love. 

“You given much thought to your best man?” 

Dugan snorted. “Bit of a useless question, don’t you think?” 

Dmitri’s smile fell and he cleared his throat, repositioning himself on the couch. “Oh. Yeah.” 

Dugan eyed him, noticing the sudden deflation. “You know who it would be, Dmitri.”

“Right. Jones. Or, um, would Rogers be up to doing something like that?” 

“I dunno. Never asked. Don’t plan on it.” 

“Gotcha. So Jones.” 

Dugan sighed loudly and Dmitri looked over at him, confused and unsure of what he had done to irritate him. “Dmitri,” he said, sounding exasperated, “do you see Jones here in my gaff making me tea and having a chat because I bloody well don’t.” 

“So… it’s… _not_ Jones?” 

Dugan put down his tea, clapping his good hand to Dmitri’s shoulder. “You, Dmitri. I specifically asked you over today to ask you to be my best man.” He snorted again. “I mean, Jones? Really? Are you daft? _You’re_ my closest friend.” 

_“What?_ I mean, yes! Yes, I will. We have a dog now. He could carry the—” 

“I’m not having a dog be our ring bearer.” 

  
  


+

  
  


Clint put down what he was looking through. They had been in James’ office most of the morning. James was looking over something and Clint was ready to break the silence with someone that had been on his mind for a while. 

“What’s Rogers like?” Clint asked, looking through the photo albums James normally kept locked in his desk drawer. Clint had wanted to see baby pictures and James had given him the photo album without hesitation. Clint thumbed through a few pages, noting how very little difference there was between James and Anna—the dark hair, light eyes, serious gaze. Anna even had the slightest hint of a dimple in her chin just like him. 

But then he had gotten to the point where the Rogers family came into his life. They were intertwined with James’ blood family and yeah, it bothered him a little but it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it nor anything he would say. They were James’ family therefore Clint would have to get used to the idea of being around Steve in the near future. 

James glanced up quickly and then back down at the documents he had been sent, the final draft of what he wanted from Reed. 

He had come onto James’ radar a few years back. James funded his research and purchased his supplies in exchange for getting the first working version of anything he created that James might want. 

“One second,” James said, flipping to the last page. It was exactly what he wanted and, surprisingly, better than he expected. This would be easier to carry, compact but hopefully last twice as long. Water-proofing had also been important. 

He put the documents down and looked up at Clint. “What’s he like? How do you mean?” James asked, wanting to know exactly what Clint was asking and hoping he wasn’t asking how Steve was in bed. 

“How come you two are friends? I mean, what’s his personality like? I only know little bits from the childhood stories Sarah shared and then the stuff I’ve heard on the streets which I don’t put much stock in. Especially not after getting to know you.” 

“What’s—wait. What’s the word on me?” 

“Shouldn’t your nifty little nickname tell you all you need to know?” James chuckled. “But in all honesty, a lot of people don’t believe you exist. You’re a ghost story because so few people have seen you which… I mean, I’ve known Dmitri almost as long as I’ve known Natalia and I only vaguely knew you existed. Dmitri never spoke about you, we never really asked. I knew you had to exist because you can’t have an organization with a fake boss but yeah, you’re kinda like the boogie man.”

“Huh.” 

“What?” 

“It’s just interesting, is all.” 

“Liar.” 

“No, really.” James gave him a smile, his eyes nearly light blue today. Clint loved his eyes. He loved how they constantly changed sometimes depending on his mood, sometimes on the weather or what he was wearing. He loved their spectrum—a slate grey to an almost metallic blue and everything in between. They were some of the most beautiful eyes he had ever, well, laid eyes on and they were attached to the most beautiful man. “Why are you smiling like that?” 

Clint certainly didn’t realize he was smiling like an idiot but the moment James called him out on it, he felt it on his face and blushed just the tiniest bit but he didn’t look away as he said, “I just love you a whole lot. Sometimes it makes me stupid.” 

James smiled and it was bright and warm and just for Clint and then it quickly became a smirk. “Only sometimes?” 

“Ugh,” Clint groaned and James laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be the romantic one. _Anyway_ , I was asking a question. What’s he like?” 

“Why?” 

“Genuinely just curious.” 

“How terrible would it be if I said you two have traits in common?” 

Clint thought about it for a second and then shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect it. I just… I’m nervous about meeting him.” 

James snorted, more than comfortable doing that around Clint now. “Why? It doesn’t matter what Steve thinks.” 

“Right. Because you never hoped Natalia would like you?” 

“Not really. Our relationship isn’t theirs. It’s ours. I’m glad she likes me now, don’t get me wrong, but if Steve doesn’t take to you—which he will, trust me—then that’s his loss. _You_ are my priority, not him.” 

Clint smiled, satisfied with that answer. “Going back to the things we have in common... I mean, I already knew you had a type. Tall, blond, with blue eyes and maybe a muscle or two. What else?” 

“Muscle or two?” James asked, scoffing. Clint wasn’t bursting out of his clothes but that man was definitely selling himself short if ‘a muscle or two’ was how he saw his body. James had seen that body, taken his time to happily familiarize himself with it and he could say that it was definitely quite a few rings above average. “Doll, I wish they made beds out of your chest.” 

Clint felt a sudden heat wash over his face and he smiled, rubbing his neck. 

“Come here.” Clint had never gone from content and in love to insanely horny that fast but something about James’ tone of voice, the way he was looking at him and the word ‘doll’ rolling off his tongue did the trick. 

James stood and came over, pressing Clint back into the couch cushions as he kissed him. 

“Where’d this come from?” 

“You can’t just call a man ‘doll’ all sexy like that and expect him _not_ to immediately want you.” James chuckled and lowered himself down onto Clint comfortably, kissing along his jaw. “Bucky—”

James pulled back immediately, frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his forehead. “Clint, really? It’s like you—”

“Wait. Would you just let me explain why I like it so much?” 

James sighed but sat back and Clint sat up, fixing his shirt. “You know that photo in your room? The one of you and Rogers?” 

“Our room,” James corrected on instinct and it made Clint smile. James nodded. 

“Well, that is one of my favorite pictures of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because of how happy you look. That damn smile on your face in that picture stretches from one ear to the other. It’s bright and real and so contagious. I smile just looking at that picture, James, and sometimes even _I_ can make you smile like that and I love it.” He paused for a moment but James didn’t speak, hanging on to Clint’s each and every word, shocked. “You call me sunshine because that’s what I remind you of. When I call you “Bucky” I’m not mocking you, I’m thinking about that picture. I’m thinking about how happy you looked, how happy I sometimes—“ 

“Always,” he interrupted, grabbing Clint’s hand. “You always make me that happy.” 

“Always,” Clint corrected with a smile. “And then it reminds me of how happy you make me. Happier than I’ve been in I don’t even know how long. And for the record, I think your buck toothed smile is gorgeous.” 

James smiled when Clint reached up and grabbed his face. 

“See. There it is.” 

James rested his head on Clint’s shoulder and Clint stroked his hair, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“I love you so much,” he said quietly against Clint’s shoulder, looking up to kiss his lips. He pulled away and laughed in disbelief. “Only you could make me want to like something I’ve hated about myself for years.” 

“Well you better start liking it, pal, because I _love_ it and I love the man those buck teeth belong to.” Clint grinned widely, reaching over to grab his face and squish it. “Not a big scary mob boss now, are you? Smile, Bucky.” 

James laughed, doing his best to grin despite Clint’s hold on his face. 

“I’d propose if I could, you know?” James said after a moment of looking into Clint’s deep blue eyes and bright grin. He sighed softly, watching the shock register on Clint’s face and then melt away and give place to affection. 

“Just because we can’t get married doesn’t mean you can’t propose.” 

“Good point,” he said, taking in a deep breath, Clint’s hands dropping from his face to take his hands. “Clint Barton, will you marry me?” 

“No,” he said immediately and James jerked back. “It’s not allowed.” He shook his head, smiling fondly. “But I will spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“That’s all I want,” he said, kissing Clint slowly. “You’re all I want.” 

+

“Okay, this time I’m sure we’re in Jersey,” Clint complained in the backseat, unhappy because James had said Lucky needed to stay home. 

He was pouting up a storm over on his side of the car, James watching him with a look of amusement. 

“Still not Jersey. Staten Island.” 

“What? That’s _worse_ ,” Clint exclaimed, truly offended and James burst out laughing. 

“Only kidding. We’re in South Manhattan. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” 

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” He said, his pout fading as he looked over at James

James snorted. “It’s so easy to distract you.” 

Clint gasped. “Is that what you were doing?” 

“Doing implies effort was made.” 

“What happened to you? You used to be so romantic before we fake got married. Now you don’t even touch me.” 

James laughed, glancing out the window to see how close they were before he turned an unimpressed look on Clint. “I don’t touch you? What are you talking about? I literally gave you a—”

“Kiss,” Clint interrupted, eyeing Dmitri in the rearview mirror. Dmitri rolled his eyes and sighed. Clint had recently decided that given the age difference between him, James and Dmitri, that Dmitri—Dmitri was twenty-four, seven years younger than James and six years younger than Clint—should be their son. “He gave me a kiss, is all.” 

“Up yours, Clint.” 

“That’s what I did,” James added, chuckling and much to his surprise, Dmitri did go the tiniest bit rosy on the cheeks. 

Dmitri cleared his throat and pulled into a short driveway. “We’re here.” 

Clint walked into a nice home though it did seem quite empty. A man about the same age as Clint opened the door, white hair at his temples despite his youthful face. 

“Winter, Dmitri, hello, and, oh. Welcome,” Reed said, motioning for them to come inside. “I’m Dr. Reed Richards, and you are?” he asked, his eyes sliding to James just to be sure he was allowed to ask. 

“Clint Barton.” It was only once he was inside that Reed’s eyes focused in on the issue and he gave him a smile, shaking his hand. 

“Follow me. It’s down here and ready. I think you’re going to love it,” Reed said and Clint eyed James and then Dmitri but neither of them so much as gave away even a tiny hint and Clint sighed, making the corner of James’ mouth quirk up just the tiniest bit. 

They headed down the stairs into Reed’s basement and he flicked on the light switch, illuminating a huge room full of neat things that Clint had no idea what they were. 

Reed walked over to a table and picked up the same tray he had brought the devices over to James on the last time. This time there were two small black boxes and the one charging device. Reed placed the tray on the table and Clint stood behind James. 

“Clint,” James said, reaching around to place a hand on his back. He placed it much higher than he normally would and Clint got the hint that Reed was not someone safe to be themselves around or at least James didn’t trust him so Clint didn’t trust him. 

Clint shuffled closer to the table and Reed smiled up at him, opening both boxes at the same time and lifting up the top. 

“What are… _oh_ ,” Clint said, needing a moment to understand what he was seeing. They were so different, so small and simple. “Are these… are they for me?” 

He turned to James who nodded. Clint blinked a few times to stop his eyes from stinging. James noticed and brushed his hand with his own, trying to make it look like an accident. Clint swallowed hard, rolling his lips together. 

“I assume so seeing as you’re the only one who came in with hearing aids today,” Reed said. “Try them out. The only difference is color. You could always just take them both for whenever you—”

“The purple ones.” 

“Funny, that’s what he said,” Reed told him, gesturing to James who gave Clint a very controlled smile because what he really wanted to do was pull him into his arms and press kisses all over his face. 

“Here,” Reed said, lifting the first one out, “just slide this part into your ear and then this goes over the top and around the back.” 

“And the battery?” 

“This here,” Reed told him, slapping the second device, “is the battery.” He saw Clint deflate a little at the size. “It’s a charging station. You put the hearing aids here overnight or whenever they need charging and then you take them off, put them on and go. No need to lug it around with you anymore.” 

“Oh!” He said excitedly, reaching for it to inspect it. Even despite the size, it was incredibly lightweight. 

Dmitri grabbed the hearing aids and put them on Clint’s ears since he seemed a little too overwhelmed to do it himself. Clint turned them on with some more help from Dmitri and the world had crystal clear sound. He removed the old ones and put them on the table and Reed grabbed them. 

“Wait, no,” Clint said, “don’t get rid of that. It’s got… uh, sentimental value.” It did, it was true. The first thing James had ever bought him. 

“No problem, I’ll pack it up for you. How are they sounding?” 

“Amazing,” he said, looking around like they would somehow help him see better and then his eyes fell on James’ face and he really wanted to leave. Not to be disrespectful to Dr Richards but he wanted to give James a big, fat thank you kiss. 

“How long have you been working on this?” Clint asked Reed. 

“Few months, why?” 

“I… just wondering.” He turned back to James and bit down hard to keep from tearing up. He turned back to Reed. “Hey, you speak any languages other than English?” 

“Just English and advanced mathematics,” he joked and Clint gave him a half smile but turned back to James. 

_“Thank you,”_ he said in Russian. He had been practicing with Nat because he didn’t want Dmitri telling James that he was learning. _“I love you.”_

James kept his smile controlled still but Clint saw the brightness in his eyes and the unspoken reciprocation of what Clint had said. 

James turned to Dmitri who dug into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Reed. 

“The rest of your payment,” James said. “And thank you.” 

“My pleasure, Winter.” 

James was curled up comfortably with his head on Clint’s chest, happy to be the small spoon. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s warm skin, another he pressed to a scar on his side, and one more he pressed right in the middle of his chest, sighing happily. 

Clint’s fingers were trailing lightly up and down James’ back, the hearing aids still in and they weren’t uncomfortable! Not like his old ones. He loved them but more so he loved James. 

“Hey,” Clint said and he felt James inhale deeply as he woke up, probably almost asleep. 

“Mm?” 

“I love you, Bucky.” 

“I love you too, _solnyshko.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I hope you enjoyed this fic! 
> 
> For those of you interested, I will be creating a fic as a part of The 1940s series which will consist purely of 1940s Winterhawk drabbles/one shots. If anyone wants to send me some things they would like to see Bucky & Clint do, feel free to leave prompts in the comments or hit up my ask/messages on tumblr at  
> im-95-not-dead


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint meets Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for how late this chapter has posted. There was a lot of talk needed with BlanketofDeath first to figure out what I should have happen here to lead into the next installment of the 1940s series that we will co-write.

The cheerful melody filled the room and overflowed out into the hallway through the slightly ajar door to where Steve leaned against the wall, his eyes closed. He considered sliding to the floor to listen more comfortably but decided against it, instead trying to inch closer to the door without being spotted so he could hear it even better, perhaps even sneak a glance. 

He wasn’t expecting it. It had been years since he had last heard it and he knew the memories attached to it. He knew why he had stopped hearing it, which only made him more curious as to why he was hearing it now. It was so lively, such a carefree melody. 

With his eyes shut, he could see the way the room used to be full of life whenever that piece was played. The happy smiling faces and laughter as dance steps were missed and feet were stepped on. 

It was not just that Steve hadn’t heard that piece played in years, he also hadn’t heard _him_ play in years either. Steve could play a piece or two, he could learn them fairly quickly, but James had always been particularly adept at it. His long fingers moved so deftly across the keys, his feet working the pedals as though it were something he was born doing. 

Steve remembered hours spent on that piano bench beside him while James slowly lost his patience as Steve’s utterly graceless fingers trampled across the keys until he finally— _finally_ —got the movements down, until he learned his first full piece: Moonlight Sonata. 

Steve smiled at the memory. James had been so proud. It had just been the two of them home that night. Anna was with friends, their mothers were both out together and James’ father was out doing whatever it was that he did with his friends. James had leapt up when Steve’s fingers moved away from the keys as the song faded out, yanked Steve up into his arms and spun him around the room, ecstatic that all that hard work had paid off. 

That was the night Steve kissed him for the first time. So excited and running on adrenaline, he closed the space between their lips while James continued to spin him around the room and James jerked back like Steve had slapped him, his bright eyes going wide. 

Steve remembered thinking he was going to die. Right there on the spot. Either the asthma attack that was slowly building up was going to take him out or James was. He shoved away from him, trying to figure out if he could make it out of the living room and run home but before he could even step in that direction, James had grabbed him and Steve was saying a prayer and then James kissed him back. 

Steve exhaled softly, his eyes still closed as the memory played out. He had never known that James liked fellas before that. He had always known that he did and he had always liked James, he just never knew James could like him back, small and frail as he was growing up, poor as he was. 

Then they lost each other, grew apart for a few years. Steve went to war, came back, James was different. James hadn’t gone overseas to fight and yet had still lost everyone while Steve was gone. Steve came back to Sarah almost having moved in with James, both of them not wanting to be alone but suddenly finding themselves that way. 

Yet they found their way back to each other. Not in the same way as before. War had hardened Steve in ways he hadn’t expected and James had become cold, silent, and angry in the aftermath of his loss. 

Things gradually improved between the two of them as they understood that they could still trust each other, that their bond was still there waiting patiently for them to realize. Then along came Tony and painful truths came to light and now it felt like Steve’s wartime homecoming all over again and it had been long enough. He missed his best friend and he refused to let him shut Steve out any longer. 

Steve opened his eyes and realized the music had stopped. He started, standing upright and moving away from the wall on which he was leaning as it dawned on him that it had been silent for a while. Dugan had come in and gone straight to Dmitri’s room and Steve had gone looking for James, grateful that he hadn’t changed the locks and his key still worked. 

Steve peeked his head around the door to the living room and swore, jumping back in surprise as he suddenly found himself face to face with James who was standing on just the other side of the door, arms crossed and expression indecipherable. 

“If I couldn’t recognize that cologne you wear from ten miles away, I would have shot you,” James said calmly and Steve heard the click of his gun being uncocked. He sat it on a nearby shelf. “What are you doing in my house, Steve?” 

He walked away from him, over to his liquor cabinet to take out two glasses. One he left on the tray by the cabinet while he filled the other with vodka. He gestured to the empty one and Steve entered the room and grabbed a bottle of whiskey to fill up his own glass. 

James sat down on the couch, crossing his legs and taking a sip, waiting for Steve to join him. Steve sat on the couch opposite. 

“You want the sappy answer or the blunt one?” James didn’t respond more than to tilt his head to the side. “I miss you,” he said, deciding on the sappy answer. 

“So you let yourself in and stand silently in my hallway?” James asked with a chuckle and Steve at least looked a little embarrassed. Yeah, sure, it was weird when you phrased it like that. 

“In honor of being my mother’s son, I was planning to just show up so you couldn’t keep telling me ‘another time.’ I wasn’t expecting to hear you playing that Chopin piece. It threw me off.” There was a short silence between them and then Steve said, “I haven’t heard you play that since—”

“I know,” James cut him off, knowing exactly to what time Steve was referring. 

Steve turned the glass in his hand around and around, watching the amber liquid swish gently from side to side. He glanced up again. James was looking away, towards the piano, a sort of wistful smile on his lips and Steve asked, “You happy, James?” 

James thought about the question. He knew why Steve was asking it. It reminded him of when Clint asked him to play a song that reminded him of a happy time. It was the same song Steve had heard him playing, the same song his mother and sister always begged him to play for them. The song he hadn’t played since they had passed until that night Clint asked and not again until now. 

He turned back to Steve, the wistfulness faded from the smile and replaced with what Steve thought looked like peace, contentedness. 

He nodded. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” 

Steve stood and came over to sit down beside James. There were only a few inches between them. James tensed the tiniest bit and Steve turned to face him, his eyebrows drawn together in stubborn determination. James watched him, trying to predict what he would do or say next but coming up empty. 

“I’m tired of this,” Steve admitted, gesturing between the two of them, “and I miss you. I miss my friend, James. I’m here to tell you I’m selfish and impatient and I want you back in my life.” 

James watched him with that same stony expression and Steve wondered, as he often did when he made impulse decisions, if this was a mistake. Maybe James wasn’t ready for him to be back. Maybe he still needed some time and distance. 

James held out as long as he could and then his lips pulled into a real smile and Steve let out his breath he was holding. 

“You’re a jerk,” Steve laughed, extending his hand in between them. James slapped the hand away and put his glass down, opening his arms and Steve leaned over to hug him. James wrapped his arms around him tightly, squeezing, and Steve rested his chin on James’ shoulder before they broke apart again. “Are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” James told him quickly, sincerely. 

“You sure? There’s been a lot of silence on your end.” 

“A lot has been going on since you were discharged. Like it or not, life doesn’t just stop when we want it to,” James said, not patronizingly, more so in resignation, in annoyance at that fact. 

“Seems like you have downtime now. Why didn’t you call?” 

“This is the first bit of downtime I’ve had since we last spoke. You were enjoying finally getting to be with Tony, I’ve been enjoying my peace with Clint.” 

Steve nodded along slowly. The mention of James’ guy did weird things to him. It didn’t take a genius to realize what Steve was feeling was jealousy. James was his best friend. He had never had to share him with anyone. And while he didn’t want him in that way anymore, he couldn’t help the possessiveness and the desire to protect, to make sure Clint really had James’ best interests at heart. He knew James had done so with Tony. 

“How is—”

Steve cut James off, leaning to the side to look towards the living room doors. He could hear a clicking sound that he didn’t recognize. His eyes slid back to James who didn’t look alarmed although Steve knew he could hear it too. 

Steve’s eyes widened when a golden puppy came trotting through the open doors and right up to James, hopping onto the couch—James had said no dog on the couch two weeks ago and very quickly Clint and Lucky had learned to ignore him—and curling up against James’ thigh on the other side to where Steve was sitting. Lucky rested his head on James’ leg and looked up at Steve, his tail wagging. 

James reached down and scratched his neck and Lucky slowly closed his eyes, content. 

“Anyway, how is—”

“So are we just not going to talk about the dog?” Steve asked, interrupting James yet again. 

“What’s there to talk about? There’s a dog.” James had a mischievous smile on his face. Steve knew James didn’t care for pets and had never wanted one. Steve wasn’t a big pet person either but he had at least always liked going to the shelters to see the old dogs. “Steve, Lucky. Lucky, Steve,” James introduced them. Lucky looked up with his one good eye at Steve, his tail still hitting the couch cushions with a steady thump. 

“James, why do you have a dog?” 

“Clint and Dmitri love dogs. I was outnumbered.” 

Steve snorted. “You? Outnumbered, sure. You’ve gone soft, Romanov.” 

“No,” James said quietly, still scratching Lucky’s neck, his fingers moving over the soft fur, and Steve’s eyebrows raised curiously. “I’ve always been soft for the people I care about.” He looked away from Lucky back to Steve. “How’s Tony?” he finally asked. 

“Wha—I—he’s well. Better since I’ve been home. Not as worried.” 

“I’m glad. I thought he was going to go grey worrying about you. Keeping him busy and distracted was a challenge. Though I doubt you have any problem keeping him busy,” James said before Steve could say anything else, likely wanting to go back to the subject of Lucky and Clint. He knew Steve had to have no less than one million questions. He always did. He knew Steve didn’t like having secrets between them. Clint wasn’t a secret so much as he was a mystery but that didn’t mean Steve liked it any more. 

Steve smirked. “No, not much problem there.” 

“I’m surprised he took to it all so quickly,” James said. 

“Me too, if I’m being honest, but he’s a very fast and very eager learner,” Steve chuckled, his cheeks coloring just the tiniest bit. “And yours?” 

“Very eager, yes, but very fast?” James said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, smiling. “I wouldn’t say that describes him.” James was relieved that Tony was open to that side of their relationship, especially still being new to _all_ sides of it. “And Benni? How is he doing?” 

Steve gave James a look, knowing exactly what he was doing but figuring he would play along for the moment. Besides, he seemed to genuinely want to know. 

“Benni’s fine. Top of his class and cheeky as ever,” Steve said with the kind of fond grin James recognized from his own experience. That specific brand of older brother affection. 

“I’m not surprised,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, knowing Steve would seize the opportunity to ask his questions. 

“Can I meet him?” Steve asked, knowing he had only a short few seconds to get something out before James undoubtedly changed the subject again. “Clint? Ma told me he lives here. I was hoping…” he trailed off, looking around the room. “Is he here?” 

“He’s at work,” James said and Steve glanced at the clock. 

“It’s nearing 10pm. What kind of work does he do?” Steve asked, his mind supplying him with a few less than savory ideas. Although it didn’t escape his notice that James didn’t dispute Steve saying Clint lived there. He hadn’t quite believed it when his mother told him. 

“He owns a bar in Midtown.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes at the obvious omission of the bar’s name. “Do you not want me to meet him?”

“I do. And he wants to meet you. You know I just like doing things on my own terms. And you and Sarah have this natural talent of completely ignoring that.” 

Steve’s cheeks reddened just the tiniest bit, admitting his guilt for him. “I’m sorry. I already told you, I’m admitting to be impatient and selfish. So can I meet him?” 

James studied his face for a moment before he nodded. “Fine. When he gets home but listen up, Rogers, threaten him and I’ll toss you out on your pale Irish ass.” 

Steve chewed his lip. “Come on. Just a small one. You threatened—“ 

“Don’t even dare say I threatened Tony. I never did. Not even after—” He cut himself off and changed the direction of his thought, brushing a stray piece of dark, wavy hair away from his forehead. “I interrogated him, sure, but he had also just suddenly realized _overnight_ that he was into fellas. Not to mention you told me that he kept feeling like he needed to give you something in return for all you did for him. You can’t fault me for that one.” 

Steve sighed but decided to give up, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument. James had a point. “So how did you two meet then?” 

James got up to refill his glass and began explaining as he poured. “Dmitri introduced us. Clint is technically married to Dmitri’s cousin.” 

“He’s married?” 

“Yes, to an incredibly impressive woman named Natalia who is dating another lovely woman who works at the phone company, Maria,” James clarified, sitting down again. “I just helped them find a nice place together downtown in the Village. I hope you will be able to meet them one day soon as well.” 

Steve was a bright guy. Tony might have had a much better eye for accounting than he did but Steve wasn’t simple. However, he was having the hardest damn time keeping up with all the information James was throwing at him. 

“I… wait. Start over.” 

James laughed and began explaining the whole situation and how Dmitri introduced them and why. He didn’t leave out many details, including his heartache, his anger, and even his initial resentment of Tony that slowly, slowly went away with time. It wasn’t to make Steve feel bad. Just the opposite in fact. He wanted to let Steve know that he still felt comfortable sharing personal things with him. 

“So,” Steve began about five minutes later and recapped what James had told him. “Did I get it?” James nodded. “So tell me about this problem you’ve been dealing with. What can I do?” 

James sighed. “Let’s talk about that later this week. Now’s not the time for business.” 

“Agreed,” Steve said, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. “When’s he normally come back?” 

“Varies. No later than midnight most nights.” It was almost eleven. 

“I want to meet him so you’re not going to scare me off with his insane work hours,” Steve laughed, standing and putting down his drink. “Let me call Tony? Let him know I’m here, I’m okay and that I’ll be back late.” 

James motioned towards the phone on his desk. “I don’t even know why you bother asking.” 

“You know,” Steve said, picking up the phone and tucking it between his cheek and shoulders as he dialed, “I was kind of recovering from multiple stab and gunshot wounds while you two were getting all buddy-buddy.” 

“Sure but don’t forget that I knew you loved him way before you knew I loved you and I never treated Tony any differently for it then and I haven’t since. Don’t rewrite what happened just because you know you missed something.” 

Steve paused, standing by James’ desk and realizing he was right. James had watched Steve slowly fall in love with Tony all the while he was in love with Steve and he had never so much as snapped at Tony any more than he did anyone else. He had never tried to stir Steve’s attention away from him or put him down. In fact, he had helped him, practically pushed him into Steve’s arms. 

“How did you do it?” 

“Do what?” James asked, running both hands through his hair to push it out of his face. 

Steve gestured aimlessly until he found the words he needed. “If the roles had been reversed,” he began, slowly, “and I were in love with you and had to watch you fall in love with someone else and _up close_ , no less. If I had to continuously offer to help the person you were falling for, all the while knowing you were choosing him over me...” he trailed off, hands on his hips as he stared at the floor. “I think I would’ve let them die.” 

Steve meant it. If James felt about Steve how Steve now felt about Tony… there was simply no way he would let him go. Especially now knowing what it was like to be with him. Steve knew how Tony made him feel and it would be a cold day in hell before he sat idly by as Tony fell in love with someone else. 

And James had known as well. He knew what being with Steve was like. He knew Steve better than anyone and still he smiled and let it happen. 

James stood, retucking the back of his shirt. “Don’t be dramatic. You and I both know that’s not who you are.” 

“I’m not so sure.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t think I could’ve stuck around as long as you did. I think I would’ve distanced myself sooner.” 

“Well,” James began, shuffling through possible replies. He didn’t want to say anything rude or boastful, which were the first few things that came to mind, so he settled on something small and truthful. “The most important thing to me was— _is—_ that you’re happy, Steve.” 

It was the truth but in reality a large part of James not acting on his feelings was because he knew they could never make it work. He knew their relationship would put such a burden on everything and endanger those close to them. 

Steve couldn’t move in with James or James with Steve. While James certainly didn’t feel he would owe anyone an explanation for anything he did, he knew that something like that would start rumors, would incite disloyalty and attacks. And James refused to live his life in love but alone in his home most of the time so he just held it in. 

James made his way over to the doors. “Call Tony. I’m going to find a snack.” 

“James,” Steve began, wondering if he had unintentionally opened closed wounds. 

“Call Tony, Steve,” he said over his shoulder, leaving. 

From the hallway and almost to the kitchen he heard Steve say, “Hello, love.” 

In the kitchen he found Dugan and Dmitri. Dugan lifted his hat that was on the table and set it back down again as a means of greeting. Dmitri nodded and then went back to discussing the wedding with his friend. 

James found some olives and bread and grabbed both, leaning to look at the ideas Dugan was showing Dmitri and then heading back to the library slowly. He entered just as Steve was hanging up. 

“Alright. I love you too. See you soon. Kiss ma for me. And Benni, if he’s still awake,” Steve said, smiling as he hung up. 

James smiled, falling back onto the couch as Steve came over. He sat beside him and grabbed a piece of bread, realizing he hadn’t had dinner. Hopefully there would still be leftovers by the time he got back. 

“See?” James said, pointing to the goofy smile on Steve’s face. “Even if we hadn’t bonded some, I can’t fault Tony for that.” 

“For what?” 

“How happy he makes you.” 

Steve ducked his head, still smiling. It was true. Tony made him incredibly happy. He was everything Steve never thought he could have for himself. He looked up at James again, remembering the Chopin piece. “Clint must make you pretty happy too, huh?” 

James sighed, that peaceful smile back on his face. “Steve, I honestly didn’t know I could have this.” 

Clint, Dmitri, Natalia and even now Maria, who had warmed to him, were James’ _family_. He had a family again. His own, not Steve’s. Not that he didn’t love and appreciate the Rogerses but for years what he had wanted was his own family and now he had that. Lucky, included. 

It was such a domestic setup at times—all of them relaxed in his living room while soft music played in the background or James sat at the piano filling the room with a gentle melody—that James wondered if he had lost his edge. If he no longer belonged on the mob scene or if maybe this life wasn’t for him. 

The dinners and game nights, sitting at a breakfast table that finally wasn’t silent, going to sleep and waking up next to the man he loved so much that, if he asked, James _would_ give up his lifestyle in a heartbeat for him. 

He wondered if the others lived that way. He knew Steve did but did Madame Gao come home to a seemingly normal life? Or if Wilson Fisk? Did they have family and friends and people they truly cared about and would set the world on fire if they ever lost them? 

Some days it still crossed his mind. The question of whether or not he was even worthy of such a good life after all the unspeakable horrors he had committed and continued to commit. He was sure there were many people who would quickly tell him he didn’t deserve it but the only people that mattered as far as James’ reputation and redeemability were concerned told him yes. Yes, he was deserving of all the good he had in his life and Clint especially was on a mission to make sure, one day, he finally understood that.

Steve understood that feeling on a cellular level. He still asked himself that at times when he saw Tony’s smile that he gave only to Steve. Tony seemed to pick up on Steve’s self-doubt, sometimes reassuring him with words, other times with just a hug or a kiss. 

“This may make me a hypocrite but you deserve it, James. You really do,” Steve said. “You’ve lost so much. It’s only fair that you finally get something back.” 

James started at him, into those baby blue eyes that were daring him to protest. He saw the familiar stubborn set of Steve’s jaw and knew that, like with Clint, this wouldn’t be an argument he would win. At least not easily. 

“I appreciate that,” James said. 

“But you don’t believe it?” 

“It’s just hard to.” He scrunched his nose like he smelled something bad, sighing heavily. “I’ve done things you don’t even know about, Steve.” 

“Does he?” 

“Says he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t _care_ but—”

“Then that’s that. The lives we lead and the jobs we do… we can’t start developing a conscience overnight, you know. We wouldn’t last a week,” Steve countered. “Our men are loyal, sure, but that loyalty only lasts so long as they see no room to challenge. That scar on your arm is all the proof you need of that.” 

James nodded slowly, his eyes sliding to his arm. The scar wasn’t visible right then but sometimes in bed Clint’s fingers would trace the length of it. 

When James was first starting out, when his position as leader wasn’t quite as strong, he was feared but there were issues with the surety of his position. The Russian mob was only just starting to make its mark in New York City and James had just killed their previous _pakhan._

The other men began wondering if one of them shouldn’t have his position instead of James. James was young, a med student, but what did he know about running a criminal organization? He was challenged often and as the underling he was before, he hadn’t made enough friends to turn the challenges down and have others back him up. 

So he fought them. 

He always won but that didn’t mean no one ever got a few good hits in. Or, in the case of his arm, cuts. That option to challenge him was still open though no one had taken him up on the offer in years. James didn’t let others tap out. Every challenge was to the death. 

“You might have a point.” 

“Might?” Steve laughed. “It’s the nature of our business. If we were as bad as Bakuto, then we might have to start worrying. But as it is, I think Clint’s right. You deserve it. I deserve it. Let’s just enjoy it.” 

James nodded. Hearing Clint’s name created an ache in James’ chest because he missed him. 

It was so unlike anything James had ever experienced. Missing someone that much. He hadn’t even felt it that intensely with Steve but Clint could leave the bedroom to make coffee and some days, James just had to get up and go downstairs with him until they both came back up with their coffee. James had never considered himself clingy or needy but those were the only two words he could think of to describe himself around Clint.

“So, tell me more. I wanna know about him. What’s he like?” Because Steve wasn’t aware that Clint was in love with James, or vice versa. Sarah had only told him so much and it was becoming increasingly evident just how much information she had left out. 

“Clint is…” James began, trailing off as he searched for a word or expression to best describe him. He had told Steve the technical stuff—how they met, how long ago, how long it had taken to get where they were now—but he had skipped out on the more juicy details of their relationship. What Clint was like. How he made James so happy. How he made James laugh and smile and be excited for bed at night and breakfast in the morning. 

“Are those dog tags?” Steve asked, eyeing James’ fingers that had slipped under the collar of his shirt to run along the chain as he thought about how to describe Clint. He hadn’t even realized he was playing with it. He never took them off and it was an unconscious action at this point. 

“Yes.” 

“His?” James nodded. “Army?” Another nod. “When?” 

“Forty to forty-three. After a bomb caused him permanent hearing loss, he was sent home,” James explained. 

“I might have walked right past him at some point,” Steve said quietly, wondering if he might recognize him. It was a relief to see that he obviously cared for James if he had given him his dog tags. Steve thought maybe Tony would like to have his. “Seems like he really cares about you.”

“You really come all the way over here to make sure he cares about me, Steve?” 

“Yes, you asshole, I did.” 

James grinned. “I like to think—wait. Shh.” He lifted a finger to his lips to silence Steve. 

Steve closed his mouth, listening. He heard the front door shut. 

“Baby?” Steve heard a voice he didn’t recognize call out loudly. Steve leaned towards the living room doors, eager to see the man attached to the voice. “Big scary mob man? Where ya at? Hello? Meech?” 

“Living room,” James answered, a smile slowly spreading across his face and a warmth in his stomach. He was _excited._ He was so excited to see Clint and it had only been a couple hours since they were last together. He’d kissed Clint goodbye that morning when he left around eight and hadn't seen him since. 

Clint was whistling and Lucky had already started wagging his tail when he heard Clint’s voice but the whistling was too much. He hopped off the couch and darted out of the room to find Clint. 

“Hey, Lucky. Hey, buddy,” Clint said, reaching down to pet him. He crouched and pressed a kiss to Lucky’s head. “Come on, let’s go see your other dad.” 

Clint came around the corner, unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt. He was looking down at a stain he had gotten on it as he entered the room. 

“Hey, where’s Meech? He—holy—Steve Rogers. Alright,” Clint spluttered as he looked up and saw the two men on the couch staring at him. He instinctively straightened his waistcoat and jacket even though he knew he was better dressed than he had been in years. James bought him the suit he was currently wearing and he felt like a million dollars in it but right now, he felt incredibly exposed and uncomfortable. 

James held out his hand for Clint and he shuffled forward, his eyes still on Steve who was watching him curiously. This was about fourteen levels of messed up and James owed Clint big time for not even trying to give him a warning. 

Clint took James’ hand and James pulled him down to kiss him. For a moment there, with his lips on James’ that tasted like vodka and olives, Clint could forget that he was about to meet James’ ex who also happened to be the ridiculously rich, gorgeous and powerful Steve Rogers. 

“Hello,” Steve said once Clint had pulled away from James. “Pleasure to—”

“Wait. Just… just a second,” Clint said, holding up a finger and Steve paused, a little surprised but he closed his mouth and waited. “I need a drink before any of whatever this is happens.” 

He moved away from James and headed to the liquor cabinet. James, not caring if Steve saw him trailing after Clint like Lucky, walked with him. He leaned against the counter, looking Clint up and down. He had missed him so much and he wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like it had been all that long but all he wanted to do was hold him and kiss him. If Steve weren’t there, James would have dragged him upstairs and done whatever Clint wanted. He was suddenly just so desperate for as much physical contact as he could get.

“I missed you,” James said quietly, too quietly for Steve to hear, moving to stand behind him, his hands wrapped around his waist. Clint looked over his shoulder at him and James noticed for the first time the low levels of irritation in his features. 

Clint turned in James’ arms. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was here?’ Clint signed, pulling out of James’ arms to reach for a bottle of scotch instead of his usual brandy or cognac. 

James opened his mouth, a little surprised, and then closed it and raised his hands to sign back to him, hating that he had moved away from his arms. He wasn’t fluent yet but he was a lot better than he had been a few months ago. 

‘He showed up. Did not ask.’ 

‘You know I have been nervous to meet him and—’ 

“Wait, slow down. I can’t keep up when you sign that fast,” James said and Clint took a breath and signed slower, letting James know that he was incredibly nervous to meet Steve and would have liked at least a little heads up. Maybe even just James coming to meet him in the kitchen before he got to the living room. “I’m sorry, _solnyshko_ ,” James apologized immediately, his hands going back to Clint’s waist. He had no time for pride when it came to Clint actually being upset. 

Clint opened his mouth, ready to argue like they usually did. Well, they didn’t argue but they did bicker a lot, mostly for fun, but no argument came. An apology did instead. 

“I…” he trailed off, looking over at Steve who was staring respectfully at the bookshelf instead of at the couple by the liquor cabinet. ‘It’s fine,’ he signed, dragging a hand through his hair and dishevelling it just the way James liked it. 

James reached up, cupping Clint’s face between his hands and gently guiding him down to meet James’ lips, kissing him slowly. His thumbs stroked softly across Clint’s ears, careful not to brush against the hearing aids but a sweet enough action to relax Clint. 

He broke the kiss and his lips moved to Clint’s temple. He said, his voice just barely a whisper, “I’ll make it up to you later.” He felt Clint’s pulse race quickly beneath his fingers that were on his neck and he smiled, kissing him once more and then moving aside. 

He turned back around to see Steve watching them, no longer bothering to be respectful because he was too damn curious. 

“Steve,” James said, an amused note to his voice, “meet my Clint. Clint, meet Steve.” 

Clint’s heart sped up again at hearing ‘ _my_ Clint,’ making him grin like a crazy man. 

Steve didn’t know what James had apologized for but he was still stuck on that moment. On how sweet they were with one another and how easily things appeared to work between them. On how much James obviously craved Clint’s touch and cared about how he felt. 

He was still processing James speaking to Clint using sign language. When had he learned that? And then _solnyshko_? Steve’s Russian wasn’t fluent but he knew that word. He knew James was calling Clint ‘sunshine’ and, well, Steve was officially caught off guard by the tenderness of this relationship and feeling just as overwhelmed as Clint. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Steve said, extending a hand out to Clint who took it and gave it two firm shakes. 

“Likewise.” 

Clint knew he couldn’t size up Steve in the traditional sense—he was a mob boss and Clint didn’t doubt that Steve could knock him on his ass with one or two moves. There was also the fact that Steve Rogers was built like he had swallowed an entire Brooklyn brownstone. Was the man even real? 

Clint had seen Steve in passing and from a distance but never close enough or long enough to really get a good look at him. And being able to do so now really made him feel that familiar sting of insecurity that he thought he had managed to stamp down. 

Steve Rogers was not built like normal humans. His shoulder to waist ratio was proof enough of that and then came his perfect jawline. Steve was gorgeous, all hard lines and chiseled features. And then there were those pouty lips and clear periwinkle eyes paired with his golden hair. Clint had good posture but Steve’s posture—not unlike James’—made him feel like he was doubled over. All of Steve made him wonder why James would ever settle for him when this was what he used to have. He knew James loved him but he wondered, as he often did, why.

“Go on, Steve,” James encouraged and Steve turned to him, slightly confused but having an idea of what James meant. “Let’s sit. I know Steve has questions. That is, if you’re willing to answer them.” 

Clint shrugged. “I’m an open book.” James smirked at that but didn’t comment further. 

Clint scooted close to James on the couch, so used to being pressed right up against him if they were at home. James immediately took Clint’s hand, resting it on his thigh. 

“So… questions?” Clint asked, catching Steve’s eyes sweeping over him as he did a silent appraisal. 

There was so much Steve wasn’t expecting about Clint both from a physical standpoint and personality-wise. He wasn’t sure who he thought James had found but certainly not Clint. 

First of all, though not exactly his type, Steve could still appreciate that Clint was an incredibly handsome man. He was tall and nicely built with a ruggedness about him that Steve, with his clean-cut features and fair hair, felt he had always lacked and he looked very nice in the suit James had no doubt chosen for him, filling it up nicely in all the right places. 

Steve’s eyes dropped to James’ hand holding Clint’s, thinking about the incredibly sweet kiss they had shared. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what James was like in a relationship or that he didn’t know James had a warm and fuzzy side to him. It was just odd seeing him be that way with someone else.

“Why do you like him?” Steve ventured, earning himself a glare from James but he pressed on. Clint didn’t seem phased in the slightest. 

He blew air out of his mouth, smiling. “First of all, what’s not to like? Secondly, uh…” He trailed off, looking over at the clock and then back to Steve. “How much time do you have?” 

Steve laughed, not expecting such a straightforward, casual response. He knew he wasn’t as intimidating as James but he had expected at least a little hesitance on Clint’s end. 

“In all seriousness,” Clint said, his tone becoming less carefree, “I’m not holding his hand because he’s rich, if that’s what you’re thinking. Or because he’s handsome. Or because you might assume I’m afraid of him and feel I have no choice.” 

Steve remained quiet, listening to Clint. He had one hand on his drink that was balanced on his thigh, his finger going around the rim slowly. 

“Underneath that angry mobster persona, he’s very gentle, sweet,” Clint said, turning to James. Steve smiled softly and James rolled his eyes and then focused on Clint again, wanting to hear what else he had to say. “He’s just—you’re—”James laughed. “The problem here is, _he’s_ the romantic. I’m better at actions than words.” 

“Like the dog tags,” Steve stated. Clint nodded. 

“Exactly. But if this is one of those ‘he’s my best friend you better not fuck with him’ types of things, believe me. Dmitri would have my balls if I upset James before _you’d_ get to me. Not like it’s on my to do list anyway.” He turned to James, smirking. “I kinda like you, ya know.” 

“Only on Tuesdays,” James teased. 

“And TuesdayTwo.” 

“What? Why Tuesdays?” Steve asked, clearly very confused. 

James laughed and Clint shrugged. “Some things are better left unknown.” There was nothing secretive about it. It was just theirs and they didn’t feel like sharing it. “So, do I pass?” 

“You make him happy,” Steve answered, but Clint could hear that there was something off to his voice, perhaps distrust, “and I saw that before you got here and even more so now. That’s good enough for me. I was just curious.” 

Clint smiled. He knew he would have to pass more tests in the future. This wasn’t over with. There was no way in hell Steve Rogers was satisfied after having known him all of ten minutes but for now he would take it. Besides, he didn’t trust Steve much either. He might’ve been James’ friend and one of the few people James trusted but that didn’t mean he had to trust him. 

“Well, good. Makes me happy to hear that.” He turned to James who pressed a quick kiss onto Clint’s cheek. “You two been doing some catching up?” 

“We have. Much like his mother, Steve decided to abuse his key privilege but,” James said, continuing when he saw Steve about to open his mouth to protest, “it’s been nice. I’m glad he came.” 

“Me too,” Steve agreed and then he turned to Clint and added, “Does it bother you? Since I’m assuming you know about our pasts?” 

Clint didn’t like the question, feeling his eye twitch the slightest bit. “I trust James,” he answered honestly, an easy smile on his face that wasn’t quite as friendly as it looked. “Don’t take it personally. I just don’t know you.” 

“Yet,” Steve said insouciantly. Clint nodded. _Yet_. That sounded good. “How long have you had the bar? James told me about it before you got here.” 

“Bought it in ‘43. Before that I just mostly did odd jobs here and there.” If Clint was leaving out information that was his prerogative. Steve didn’t need to know that ‘odd jobs’ included things like conning suckers out of their money or robbing them outright. Clint was an honest man now. Kind of. Well, honest where and when and with whom it mattered. 

“Where did you fight?” 

Clint tensed and James squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “I’d prefer not to talk about the war,” Clint said, wondering if they had spoken about that too and then he noticed the subtle glint of the dog tags that were partially visible under James’ shirt. Maybe Steve put two and two together and got war. 

“Of course,” Steve yielded, his eyes sliding to James who was watching him with that inscrutable gaze Steve hated. “You two should come to dinner sometime. I’d love for you to meet Tony and Benni.” 

“Tony’s your guy?” Clint asked. 

“He is,” Steve said, his smile widening and eyes brightening at the mere mention of Tony. It wasn’t all too dissimilar from Clint’s reaction whenever James was mentioned. 

“Benni’s his little brother,” James supplied. “Sweet kid.” 

“Well,” Clint said, looking at James who met his gaze as he searched to see if they were thinking the same thing. “I think dinner sounds swell.” 

“As do I,” James agreed, turning to Steve with a small smile and a nod. When James hadn’t initially commented on Steve’s invite, Steve just figured he wasn’t ready to accept it yet. Turned out he was just waiting on Clint. “Speaking of dinner, have you eaten?” He was talking to Clint, reaching a hand up to comb through his hair and pat down a few of the more unruly strands. 

“Some peanuts and potato chips, mostly.” 

“Clint,” James chided and Steve chuckled. “That’s not a meal. Steve, you hungry?” James laughed and waved Steve’s reply away. “Of course you are, you’re Steve. Come on. I’ll heat something up.” 

They stood, following James out of the living room. Clint fell back to talk to Steve, feeling it the proper thing to do. 

Steve Rogers definitely gave off a completely different vibe to James. For whatever reason, Clint didn’t feel the need to be as leery of him as he was with James in the beginning. Perhaps that sense of comfort was because of everything Clint already knew about him. Or because he knew Steve couldn’t so much as touch him without James reacting. Or maybe because Clint felt like he was the mob boss whisperer. 

He wasn’t sure yet. 

“I’m guessing by that that you’re also a forever hungry type?” 

Steve looked over at him, already lost in his own thoughts and Clint would’ve paid good money to know what those thoughts were. 

“Tony gets worried when I only eat one helping of food,” Steve told him, his hands sliding into his trouser pockets. 

“ _One_ ? That’s amateur hour. I had four bowls of James’ beef stew _with_ bread and enough room afterwards for cake.” 

Steve let out a low whistle, turning to Clint. “I like you,” he told him, patting his back. 

“That’s nice and all but I prefer brunettes.” 

Steve laughed. “Yeah? Me too.” 

As they entered the kitchen, Dugan and Dmitri, now snacking and chatting, looked up. They had put away the wedding plans and were discussing the stag night. 

“Hey,” Clint said, stabbing a finger at the strawberry blond man with the thick mustache, “you must be Dugan. I mean, Dmitri really only has one friend.” 

“Bite me, Barton,” Dmitri said reflexively, forgetting momentarily that it wasn’t just the three of them alone like usual and immediately looking at Steve worriedly who was smiling. 

“Interesting little family you have here,” Steve commented to James who was taking a container out of the fridge and putting it in the microwave while Clint sat at the table to properly meet Dugan. 

“I could say the same thing to you. When do you want us? At yours?” 

“You know you’re welcome whenever you want to come. You have a key to my place as well. Just make sure you bring him,” Steve said, pointing to Clint who already had Dugan laughing. 

_“You two seem to be getting along,”_ James said quietly in Irish, checking the temperature of the food and then putting it back in for another minute. 

_“He’s different than I imagined.”_

_“Meaning?”_

_“Nothing. Just different.”_

_“You thought he would be more like you.”_

Steve noted that it wasn’t a question and yes, perhaps that had been his expectation but he refused to own up to it. _“He seems nice. And he obviously cares a lot about you,”_ he deflected and James shot him a quick look but chose to carry on. 

_“But you still have concerns.”_

_“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”_

James handed Steve his plate of food but didn’t answer, turning instead to listen to the conversation happening at the table. 

“Dmitri’s been telling me all about you,” Dugan said. “For _weeks_ ,” he added, tilting his head down to give Clint a look that made Dmitri’s cheeks redden and Clint laughed. “How would you like to come to my stag night?” 

“I’d be honored but you barely know me. I couldn’t—I don’t wanna ruin your special night,” Clint said. 

“Nonsense. Don’t have many people I call friends in this line of work.” Dugan’s expression darkened as he said, “Especially not as of late.” 

Clint didn’t comment, knowing what he meant. James had told him all about the man who almost killed Steve and who he was to him. 

“Right now, head count’s only four. Myself, Dmitri, and two other friends of ours—Jones and Morita.” 

“Morita?” James asked. 

“He’s my wife-to-be’s brother. Stand up lad,” Dugan explained. “I was trying to see if I could get _his_ lad involved but I don’t think it’s really his scene.” He jerked his head towards Steve. 

Steve turned, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin after having taken a huge bite of leftovers. “Tony? You want to invite Tony to your stag night? No, out of the question.” 

“What’re you? His mom? You don’t even wanna ask—” Clint began only to silence himself immediately when Steve sent him a glare so deadly he felt a chill run down his spine. Okay, maybe he wasn’t the mob boss whisperer. Maybe Steve had just toned down his murderousness as a favor to James. 

James looked over when Clint went quiet, looking first at him and then following his line of sight to see Steve still glaring daggers at him. James put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing harder than was strictly necessary. Steve turned to him. James didn’t say a word, just matched Steve’s glare until Steve’s face relaxed. 

Steve’s jaw set stubbornly for a full ten seconds before he turned to Clint, it relaxing as he said, “I know Tony. Dugan’s right. It’s not his scene.” He turned back to James, an eyebrow raised as if to say ‘better?’ 

Clint smirked. Sure, that glare had knocked a year or two off his life but he also wasn’t the type to back down easily. And while he didn’t confront Steve directly, his next words were enough to set Steve’s angry, stubborn jaw. 

“Mama James?” James turned to Clint, his hand falling away from Steve’s shoulder. Dmitri was grinning and was thankful his back was to Steve. 

James raised an eyebrow, waiting to see where this was going to go. 

“May _I_ go to Dugan’s stag night or is it also out of the question?” 

The corner of James’ mouth twitched upwards like he wanted to laugh but he maintained his serious expression, his eyes sliding to look at Steve briefly before going back to Clint. 

In all honesty, he did not want Clint there. He trusted Dmitri with his life. He knew Clint could take care of himself. He trusted Dugan to an extent. He knew Jones was a capable man. He didn’t have a clue about Morita and that he definitely did not like.

But the biggest issue was simply that he didn’t like having Clint out of his sight in a situation he was unfamiliar with. However it bordered on controlling, so he kept his mouth shut even though it stemmed from worry and the fact that somewhere out there was someone who knew they could use Clint to hurt James. 

Clint signed ‘You okay?’ when James didn’t respond for a few seconds. 

“Sure,” James finally said and everyone but Dugan, who clapped Clint on the back and continued talking about the activities they had planned, heard the false note to James’ voice. Dmitri could barely concentrate on what Dugan was saying. Steve had given up on being irritated at Clint’s boldness and instead was watching James. Clint didn’t react for now. He would ask later. 

They talked and ate for a bit until Dugan was yawning and Steve was in dire need of some Tony-time. They headed for the entrance to say their goodnights and finalize plans for dinner and the stag night. Clint told Dugan “I’ll see” because he wanted to find out what was going on in his beautiful, cryptic man’s head first before giving any concrete confirmations. 

“Pleasure meeting you,” Clint said to Steve, his hand extended. Steve looked at it for a moment and then shook it, a wry smile on his face. 

“Likewise.” There were things about Clint that reminded Steve of Tony. He came across as unassuming but it quickly became clear that there was a lot more to Clint Barton than what he allowed the world to see. 

“I hope it’s been a productive visit,” Clint said. 

“I came here to mend fences and meet you.” 

“Hopefully you did both of those things,” Clint said, looking at James who nodded and gave Steve a small smile. 

Steve put on his jacket and hat. “So, see you soon?” 

“We’ll talk,” James said. 

“Alright.” Steve hesitated and then took a step forward to pull James into a hug. James stiffened at first and then relaxed into it, patting Steve’s back twice before pulling away to lean against Clint. “You two have a good night.” 

“Goodnight, Steve. And hello to everyone from us.” 

  
  


Clint laid in bed waiting for James to join him and the moment he did, he didn’t waste a second getting to the point. 

“What’s going on? You know I hate it when you keep things from me. Especially when they seem to involve me,” Clint said. 

“What?” 

“I may be deaf but it would take a dead person to miss all the things you didn’t say earlier.” 

James looked down at him. He was lying on his back looking up at James who was sitting beside him. James let his hand fall flat on Clint’s chest, his thumb making semicircular movements. “I’m just worried.” 

“About me being a moving target for our mystery man?” James nodded, not surprised that Clint had already worked it out. “Then you should’ve said no.” 

“You were proving a point to Steve, were you not?” 

“Not at the expense of your peace of mind.” He huffed quietly, smirking. “Besides, it wasn’t so much proving a point as it was being an ass and testing limits.” 

James smiled. “You know I will always have your back but be careful with that. Steve loses his temper more easily than I do, believe it or not, and he’s just as protective of Tony as I am of you.”

“Noted,” he said sincerely. 

James leaned down to kiss Clint’s forehead, sliding down to lay beside him and pull him into his arms. “Besides, it will be fun. You could use more friends.” 

“Pfft. Between the two of us, I definitely have more friends, mister mob.” Clint paused. “Have you talked to Steve about mystery man yet?” 

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to talk shop tonight. But we will.”

“Any theories?” 

“A few,” James said, pressing a kiss against Clint’s hair. Clint rolled in James’ arms, tilting his head up so James could kiss him. 

“Care to share?” 

“I’d rather kiss you now and talk about that tomorrow,” he said, running his tongue slowly across Clint’s bottom lip. When Clint parted his lips, James took that as a confirmation that the talking portion of their night was finished. 

  
  


+

  
  


“And how was that?” Natalia asked, perched gracefully on the counter behind the bar while Clint went over his usual inventory check and made calls to suppliers. He’d normally designate it to Phil but he was taking a long weekend to be with his wife and their daughter. 

Clint scoffed, hanging up the phone when he got no answer and turning to her. The bar was empty, it was too early to be open, and it was just the two of them. They hadn’t spent time together just the two of them in weeks. It was nice. Clint missed her. 

“Surprisingly, it went alright. I only earned myself one glare the whole evening and I think he likes me.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Well, at one point the words ‘I like you’ actually came out of his mouth but it’s iffy because that happened a few seconds before the glare. Might have had a change of heart.” He flipped to the second page of his list and circled two items, putting exclamation points beside them to remind himself that he was very low on those items. “Besides, it was one meeting. Took you at least twenty to finally warm up to me.”

“True but regardless of all the flack I give you, you’re a hard person to hate,” Natalia told him reassuringly, sipping the tea he had made her. 

“Oh yeah? Tell that to every person I’ve ever met ever on the planet earth except for you, James, Maria and maybe like four others.”

“That’s a lot of people. My list is _much_ shorter.” Clint snorted, looking over at her just in time to catch a small grin. “Are you worried about the possibility of him not liking you?” 

Clint stopped what he was doing, a hand on his hip and the other still holding his clipboard. “I was,” he admitted. “Don't think I am anymore.” 

“What does James want?” 

“James says it doesn’t matter, I know you feel the same but I also know how desperately I wanted you and James to get along. Maybe he really doesn’t care but if Steve is his best friend, then somewhere deep down he does. James already deals with a lot. He doesn’t need me and Steve at odds but, after meeting him, I know that getting him to like me is going to take time, so there’s no point in me trying to force things and pretend to be someone I’m not. If he’s gonna like me, he’s gonna like me scales and all.” 

“Do you sense that Steve is trying to put in the effort you are?” 

“Dunno yet honestly. There was a lot of us behaving ourselves because James was there, I think. Not sure how that conversation would’ve gone had it just been the two of us.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m a nobody dating his rich, powerful best friend slash ex lover. Even if I was after his money or status, I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first. He’s got a valid reason not to like me and certainly not to trust me.” 

“Doesn’t mean you have to like that he feels that way. Also doesn’t mean you have to like or trust him just because he’s James’ friend.” 

He dragged a hand down his face, looking away from the clipboard in his hands. “I am _not_ looking forward to that dinner. Thank god James will be there.” 

“I’m only going to say this once and if you tell anyone else I said it, I’ll deny it _so_ very quickly but you and James are an incredibly sweet couple. I like him for you. I like the two of you together and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks as long as you’re both happy.” 

“Aw, Nat, I—”

“No, it’s forgotten already. No commenting.” 

Clint laughed, going back to his list as she sipped her tea again. “You know,” he said, still reading his list as he spoke, “I never really had much of a plan for my life but this certainly isn’t how little Clint imagined it going.” 

“Is that good or bad?” 

“The scale has been tipped heavily towards bad for a while but now it’s changing. The good is definitely starting to outweigh the bad.” Natalia smiled warmly, happy to hear and see Clint so, well, happy. “You were the first change that started the transition to good and I don’t think I thank you enough for it. Without you… I dunno, Nat. Who knows where I’d be.” 

“Probably still picking pockets in Times Square,” she teased, sobering up almost immediately. “But you know I owe you the same debt.” 

“Aw, come on. No debts. We’re even. You saved my life, I saved yours. Be right back.” He patted her knee as he passed her, heading to the back to see if he really did only have a few cases of whiskey left. 

He found the two cases, put an extra four exclamation marks beside that item on the list and went back out to find Nat looking for a snack. 

“Do you have nothing but peanuts?” 

“It’s a bar, Natalia,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Yes and you’re dating the richest man in the city. Do better.” 

Clint snorted. “Alright, fine. Fitz and Jemma should be in soon to lead the morning shift. He’s got keys, so how’s about I lock up and take you for breakfast?” 

Natalia grinned, ending her search for mediocre snacks. “Took you long enough.” 

Clint laughed, shaking his head as they walked around the bar and headed for the door, grabbing their coats since it was a chilly autumn morning. “There’s no pleasing you, is there? With James all I have to do is exist. Please lower your standards.” 

“And that’s exactly why I will keep my expectations high,” she told him, linking her arm in his as they strolled down the street. It was starting to fill up as people went to work or headed out to grab a coffee. 

They nodded to a few people they recognized from the businesses in the area as they passed, still chatting quietly. 

“You know, I always saw myself having a run in with the mob though. I just expected it to be guns to my head, not kisses,” Clint joked as they walked into the Falcon Diner owned by none other than Sam Wilson. 

He waved to them from behind the register as one of his hostesses seated them. He came over and personally took their orders, chatting with Clint briefly about the Giants vs Steelers game last night and then asking Nat how her ballet classes were going. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Nat began, once they had their drinks and Sam was off putting in their order, “that’s exactly how I saw your involvement with the mob too. The guns, I mean.” 

“Nat, that’s not conso—why are you so mean to me?” 

She smiled, reaching over to grab his hand and then her smile dropped off her face completely and was replaced with an intense frown that bordered on glowering. 

“What—”

“Clint,” a deep voice said, a heavy hand falling onto his shoulder as Steve sat down in the booth beside him. A few heads turned to see what was going on, immediately snapping back around once they realized at whom they were staring. Sam was watching carefully from behind the counter. Clint noticed Dugan take a seat near the pie display with another man he didn’t recognize. 

“Steve,” Clint said by way of a greeting, inching away from him. “What brings you to my breakfast spot completely unannounced and in a manner that makes me think you were following me?” 

“I just wanted an opportunity to talk without James’ presence.” 

“Still mad about what I said in the kitchen?” Clint knew he was pushing his luck and Steve’s self-control. Natalia didn’t speak, only observed. 

“No and I never really was. I’m just protective of Tony like James is of you and I don’t know you yet. Now—” Steve cut off when he saw Natalia shift and realized he was being rude. “You must be Natalia.” He extended his hand to her. 

“Perhaps we can meet afterwards, depending on how this goes,” she said, her tone unfriendly and glare as intense as ever, never even bothering to lift her hand. Steve saw quickly that she wasn’t afraid of him or intimidated. Her gaze was hard and cold, the only difference between hers and James’ was the eye color. 

“Fair enough,” he said, straightening his hat as he turned to Clint and said, “I’m not here to threaten you. I already know James would beat my ass if I did.” 

“Really? You invading my meal and making everyone in this diner uncomfortable _isn’t_ supposed to be hostile? Wonder why I have a hard time believing—”

“James won’t tell me about the issue he’s been having lately and I want to know what it is,” Steve interrupted, not really big on patience. 

It had been almost a week since Steve and Clint had met and life had gotten busy again. Steve had called James many times to ask about whatever it was he was dealing with but he refused to discuss it over the phone and kept finding a reason not to meet Steve in person. Steve knew he wasn’t just busy—sure, the election was coming up at the end of the week and there were plans that Loki needed to have already in motion—James was avoiding him entirely. James didn’t want Steve knowing and Steve wanted to know why. 

“Why don’t you just show up and make him tell you? It’s not like you don’t know where he lives,” Clint said. Steve and Clint’s relationship so far was a little rocky. It was obvious that Steve didn’t trust Clint very much and Clint wasn’t one to prove himself to anyone he didn’t think he owed it to. Sure, he wanted James to have as much peace in his life as possible but this right here? This was weighing on Clint’s patience. 

“True. But I get the sense that you know and I’m already here so why don’t you tell me?” 

“Okay, first of all, _Steve_ ,” Clint said, seeing the way Steve’s eyes narrowed angrily at his tone, “we’re not doing this here. This diner belongs to a buddy of mine and he doesn’t need this—” he gestured between the two of them “—running away good business. So, if you’d be so kind, perhaps you and Dugan and that other fella can go wait in your car. Natalia and I will get our food to go and then my bar is just down the street. We can discuss this in my office.” 

Steve set his jaw and then it relaxed.

“Fine.” 

He stood, gesturing to Dugan and the other man who immediately stood to follow. The other man walked in front of Steve to hold open the door. Dugan glanced back at Clint, giving him a nod and a smile. Clint liked Dugan. 

“So that’s Steve Rogers,” Nat said, her tone making Clint turn away from the men exiting the diner to look at her. 

“Yep,” he sighed exasperatedly. He didn’t understand why James wouldn’t tell Steve about the mystery man. Surely he could help. 

“You and him seem to be on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. James has quite broad taste.” 

“Exactly.” 

Sam came over, still eyeing the expensive car parked out front where Steve waited. “Uh, everything alright? Was that Steve Rogers?” 

Clint nodded. “Hey, Sam, think we could get our breakfast to go?” 

“You in some kind of trouble?” 

“Nah.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Really. Rogers is… we have a mutual friend. He just has a question.” 

“Believe it or not, that doesn’t sound any better. I’ll get my sister to put a rush on your order and have it out in a few minutes.” He paused, placing a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Be safe. Both of you.” 

“Thank you,” Natalia said to him, giving him a soft, sincere smile. 

Sam brought their food out a few minutes later. Natalia and Clint spent the time trying to figure out why James might not want Steve to know, using sign language the entire time in case Steve had left another man inside that Clint didn’t recognize. 

“Here you are. I threw in a little something extra since it seems to be a stressful morning,” Sam said, glancing once more out the windows towards the car with its tinted windows. 

“Thanks, Sam. You’re the best,” Clint said. 

They stood up, meeting each other’s eyes. Clint didn’t trust Steve but he knew James did. At least a little. That statement didn’t seem to hold the same truth to it that Clint would’ve assigned it about thirty minutes ago but still he knew James trusted this man enough to give him a house key. Surely Steve wouldn’t hurt them. Surely he wasn’t behind the things that Loki had done, right? 

“Clint, Natalia, this way.” 

Clint and Natalia both turned to see Dmitri standing up from where he had been sitting a few booths down. They hadn’t even noticed him. How long had he been there? Was he following Clint?

“Questions later. Come.” He took a step towards the back entrance, nodding over at Sam who gave him a subtle thumbs up. Dmitri was actually a very personable guy once you got past the resting murder face he and his boss both suffered from and the grisly scar that ran through his eyebrow. He had struck up a conversation with Sam a few times at the _Hawkeye._ Any ally was a good ally. 

Clint and Natalia didn’t bother questioning him, they followed. They both knew without a shadow of a doubt that they could trust him. 

Outside and moving down an alley towards where Dmitri had parked, Clint finally spoke up. 

“What is going on? Is Rogers behind everything?” 

“No,” Dmitri said, turning to look at Clint with the slightest hint of confusion and even offense at the assumption. “James doesn’t want Rogers to know just yet. He has a few leads and wants to run them down before he gets him involved. Rogers can be… impulsive. That’s the last thing James wants.” 

“So you’ve been following Clint for how long?” Natalia asked. 

“Couple weeks,” Dmitri admitted without the slightest trace of shame. “Just a precaution.” 

“I understand,” Clint said much to Natalia’s surprise. She thought he would be offended, feel like he was being treated like a child. Apparently this must have been more serious than anyone had let on to her because Clint had not cracked a single joke. 

“So why pull us out now? Think I would have spilled everything I knew to Rogers just because he’s James’ friend?” 

“No, I know you’re smarter than that. You must know that if Steve doesn’t know James doesn’t want him to know,” Dmitri said, opening the door for them but Clint swatted him away and held the door for Natalia while Dmitri ran around to get into the driver’s seat. “Steve and I aren’t necessarily friends but that doesn’t mean I want to see James be any angrier at him than he already will be.” 

Clint nodded slowly, understanding that. Even he knew that James was going to lose it when he found out Steve had ambushed him and Natalia like that out in public to get information that Steve had no business pressing Clint for in the first place. 

James had been staring at the wall for a good three minutes in absolute silence. Natalia was eating her breakfast on the couch, the fire lit as the day continued on at a much cooler temperature than usual. 

Clint hadn’t touched his food yet, wanting to talk to James first. The three of them had explained the situation and James had nodded along while they spoke, taking it in and doing his best not to walk to Steve’s home or office, wherever he was, and let him have it. 

“The impulsivity thing… is that really the reason?” Clint asked and James’ eyes slid to him, instantly softening but that hardness, that pure fury, still burned along the edges of them. He could see the anger in James’ posture and in the firm set of his jaw. 

“Yes. Steve is an excellent strategist but he also has a tendency to act before his plan has been fully formed,” James said calmly. Well, his voice was level but he was anything but calm. 

“What makes you think he would act like that this time? It’s not like this involves him.” 

“If someone is after me, they are after him. If this is a power struggle and one being initiated by someone with intimate knowledge of my actions then they also know you can’t take me down without taking Steve down too. Steve’s smart, he would put that together immediately.” 

“Don’t you think he deserves to know in that case?” 

“Yes, but if I tell him now while I’m trying to chase down leads, he is going to be blinded by the fact that Tony might be in danger and all his intelligence and strategic expertise is going out the window. It’s like releasing a bull in a china shop.” James sighed. “This isn’t out of pettiness but there is still the fact that Steve didn’t tell me until the last minute that someone was blackmailing him for loving men. That was predominantly _his_ issue but you don’t think that could have backfired on me?” 

He had a point. That could have backfired on James in many ways. First and foremost, his relationship with Clint. Clint had been in and out of his office plenty of times and James had frequented the bar. Someone had already picked up on that. James didn’t know what he would do if someone connected the dots and got more than friendship. 

Then came less urgent but just as important ways it could have backfired. If Steve was being blackmailed for loving men, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to say others might assume James shared the same proclivity. It wasn’t just James that was at risk, it was all of the people with whom he had dealings, who _were_ mostly queer. 

“Don’t you think this,” Clint said, gesturing around the room to them all and the situation they were in that morning, “is just going to make him angrier and more demanding? He’s gonna want to know why Nat and I disappeared on him like that.” 

“Oh, I know,” James said with a sinister smile. “I am hoping for it.” 

As if the man knew that was his cue, the phone on James’ desk rang. Natalia looked up from her breakfast for the first time to see his reaction and who was calling. 

James held the receiver to his ear. His face still all hard, angry lines that Clint wasn’t prepared to admit in front of them all really turned him on. He didn’t know what it was about James looking angry but geez, it needed to stop getting Clint all hot and bothered. Especially when he knew the last thing James wanted to do right now was make out. 

“Rogers.” If sounds could cut, James’ sharp tone would’ve split the phone in half. Clint had also learned that when James was irritated with Steve, he tended to address him by his last name. 

They couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation—Steve wasn’t the yelling type, even when he was pissed beyond belief—but they could see James’ expression gradually darkening as Steve spoke until it was finally James’ turn to speak again. 

“Then you come here and you ask _me_ not them.” James also knew that Steve approaching them in broad daylight like that might have worked for Steve and how he did business but it did nothing but further endanger Clint and Natalia. It let whoever was after James and Clint know that they were in fact also tied to Steve. Steve just made Clint a confirmed target and James was livid. “Four o’clock.” There was a pause while Steve spoke, protesting the time. “Because any earlier and I won’t have calmed down enough to not stab you.” 

He hung up, running a hand through his hair and exhaling loudly. His eyes slid over to the three in front of him on the couch. Natalia was eating again, Clint’s food remained untouched. Dmitri was perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, waiting for his instructions. 

“I need a drink.” 

+

“James,” Natalia said into the phone. “Early start?” 

“Yes, why do you ask?” he said, looking over Loki’s final poll numbers and when exactly the changes James and the other bosses wanted would be able to officially and legally go into effect. 

“Well, I’m at the bar and there’s a dead man in the storeroom. What did he do? Not greet Clint enthusiastically enough?” she teased, a smile on her face as she looked down at the man and the pool of blood surrounding him. There was a butter knife stuck in his neck and another slash across his leg. He was in a dark suit with a bright red tie and matching pocket square. Expensively dressed, she noted, so not just any man off the street. 

“Natalia.” 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the tone of James’ voice. Something was wrong. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You didn’t kill him?” she asked and felt stupid for it because of course he didn’t if he sounded so confused. 

“I haven’t left my office all morning. Describe him.” 

“Expensive suit, well built, Asian. Wait,” she paused and James heard the receiver set down on something as Natalia moved closer to inspect the body. She pushed up a sleeve and saw a tattoo. “James?” 

“Yes.” 

“There’s a tattoo on his wrist. A Japanese symbol.” 

James’ heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. “Natalia,” he said carefully, slowly. “Where is Clint?” 

She swallowed dryly, horror creeping up in her. “I thought he was with you.” 

“Dmitri is on his way to get you. Stay where you are. Call Maria and make sure she’s alright.” He hung up and called Steve. 

“Yes?” Steve said. 

“Is Tony there?” 

“Um, hello to you too. Would you like to speak to—“ 

“ _Steve_ . _Where_ is Tony?” 

“He went out to do some shopping with ma, why? What’s—” 

“Get them home. Now.” 

Twenty minutes later, Steve called back. 

“Tony’s gone.” 

“Clint too. But I know who took them.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the conclusion of this fic. Sorry for the cliffhanger but we wanted to lead into the next part which we are currently working on. 
> 
> In the meantime, check out our other fics and keep an eye out for the Clint/James 1940s ficlets compilations, which should hopefully be up in the next few weeks. 
> 
> Let me know in the comments or hit up my tumblr if you have any specific prompts you’d like to see in the Clint/James ficlets!


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